


SVS2-15: Brackett's Game

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair turn to an old enemy to solve a new crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SVS2-15: Brackett's Game

## SVS2-15: Brackett's Game

by MrsHamill

Author's website:  <http://www.squidge.org/5Senses/>

The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season is based on characters and concepts developed by, and belonging to, Pet Fly Productions. The episodes of SVS are intended for private, personal enjoyment only. No money is being made, or will be allowed to be made, by any of the SVS authors or by FiveSenses, Inc. from the writing and distribution of these episodes. Any original characters introduced in an SVS episode belongs to the episode author and to FiveSenses, Inc. and should not be used without their permission.

Note on Safe Sex: Episodes of SVS may contain depictions of consensual m/m sex. These depictions may or may not be accompanied by specific mention of items necessary for safe and healthy intercourse. It is the intention of FiveSenses, Inc. and all SVS authors that, even when such items are not explicitly mentioned, their use is to be assumed as a matter of course. All of us at FiveSenses, Inc. are aware of the risks of unprotected sex in today's world and strongly advocate the practice of safe sex, including the use of condoms and other protective devices.

This story is a sequel to: SVS2-14: Who You Gonna Call? 

* * *

Thanks to Bluewolf and Fox for the beta. 

Author's E-mail: thamill@cox.net  
Author's Webpage: [www.squidge.org/~foxsden](http://www.squidge.org/~foxsden)

* * *

**BRACKETT'S GAME**  
by MrsHamill 

Jim Ellison had a headache and his back hurt. 

Actually the headache was probably due to the backache and the knowledge of what caused the backache -- which was that Jim Ellison was getting old. Too old to be chasing and tackling perps half his age -- _half his age!_ \-- without feeling the consequences therbybyeof. Dammit. To add insult to injury, his partner was at the shooting range all morning, which left Jim stuck doing all the paperwork. Life just sucked sometimes. 

The ding of the elevator and the sound of an achingly familiar heartbeat suddenly lessened Jim's headache. He looked up and smiled when he saw his partner bounce off the elevator and head his way. Blair's hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and his eyes were sparkling as he made his way through the bullpen to Jim's desk. His jacket was tossed on the coat tree and Blair moved behind Jim to begin rubbing his shoulders and his upper back. 

"Hey, man. How's the back?" 

"Better now," Jim groaned, leaning back into the massage. He tossed his pen onto the stack of forms and closed his eyes. "I'm giving you just three hours to quit that." 

Blair chuckled. "Well, if you would stop it with the Superman stuff, this wouldn't happen." 

Megan, sitting two desks over, chuckled. She'd borne the brunt of Ellison's bad mood that morning and no doubt felt entitled to gloat. Jim couldn't care less, as long as those long, strong fingers kept digging into his aching muscles. 

"How'd practice go?" Jim asked, his voice muffled as his head nearly met his chest. 

"Pretty good," Blair replied. "Sixty-seven percent in the gold, four near bulls. I'm getting the hang of it, I think. Never thought I would, but it's really not bad." 

"Sounds like Sandy's giving you a run for your money there, Jimbo," Megan said, grinning. "You ready to lose your top gun status?" 

"As if, Megan," Blair laughed back. With a last firm swipe, Blair stopped his rubbing and leaned against the desk. "But I'm going to have some fun trying to keep up." 

"As long as it's anybody but you, Connor," Jim said, blowing her a kiss. 

"Ohh... better watch that stuff, Jimbo," Megan laughed. "Unless you really want a run for your money." 

"Yeah, yeah," Jim replied, trying to stretch carefully. "What I'd really like is to lose the prize for top paperwork writer." 

"Aw, poor Jimmy, stuck with all the paperwork," Blair said, grinning. He picked up one of the Beanie Baby pigs that adorned Jim's desk -- no matter how often Jim cleaned them off they kept mysteriously coming back -- and fiddled with the little cape it still wore. "Even Superman has to do paperwork, my man. Right, Superpig?" He laid the pig on his shoulder and gave Jim an eyebrow wiggle. 

Despite himself, Jim laughed. "Chief, you're weird. Why don't you quit fooling around and give me a hand with all this crap?" 

"I'd rather give you a hand with something else," Blair replied, sotto voce. Jim shivered a little at the smoky tone in his voice, then rolled his eyes. "Especially since the idea of a Jim Ellison flat on his back and helpless before me has _such_ appeal." 

"You keep that up, Chief," Jim replied, his soft voice half aroused and half amused, "and I'm going to end up hurting my back even more." 

"Promises, promises," Blair said, laughing. He moved away from the edge of the desk, getting ready to sit in his usual chair, but was interrupted by a bellow from Simon. 

"Ellison! Get down to Evidence," Simon yelled from his doorway. "They need your signature on something you apparently forgot last night. Oh, hi, Sandburg," he added as an afterthought. 

"Aw, shit," Jim said, once again tossing the pen he had just picked up. "I'm never going to get this stuff done," he muttered. He rubbed his forehead against the returning headache and grimaced. 

"Stay here," Blair said softly. "I'll go down. I sign your name better than you do anyway. It'll give me a chance to say hi to Lindsey and see how the baby's coming along." 

Looking gratefully up at his partner, Jim reached out and squeezed his hand under the cover of the desk. "You sure?" 

"Yeah. I can see the pounding from here. You work on that paperwork, and when I get back we'll finish it. Then we can get out of here a few minutes early, maybe." Blair dropped him a wink and grinned as he walked away. 

Feeling better, Jim watched him go, trying not to ogle the firm butt walking away. As Blair reached the elevator he met Brown getting off, and they traded insults and hand slaps before Blair got on and the doors closed behind him. 

With a sigh, Jim turned back to the mountain of paperwork, grimly determined to get through it as quickly as possible. 

* * *

The soft chime of his computer announcing incoming mail made Simon look up and realize it was beginning to get dark. A glance out the window confirmed that there were clouds coming up, hiding the setting sun and threatening rain -- yet again. Reading his email, he saw it was another form for Sandburg to fill out on his quest to join the ranks of the Cascade police -- now wasn't that a funny picture, Sandburg an official cop. He'd have to stop using that old excuse, and Simon wondered if he even could. 

He chuckled and looked up. Sandburg was here, he'd seen him with Jim a while ago. But there was no sign of him in the bullpen at the moment. Standing and stretching the kinks out, Simon walked to the door and called for Ellison. "Hey, Jim, where's your better half?" he asked, smirking slightly when Jim -- buried hip-deep in paperwork -- looked up and gave him a grimace. 

"Ah..." Jim looked around, confused. "He went down to Evidence for me," he said slowly. "Shit. When was that?" 

"Huh?" Simon thought back. Oh, yeah. "That was a while ago. He's not back yet? Or did he go home?" 

"No, he's riding with me," Jim said, frowning. "How long ago did he go down? Where is he? Shit, Simon..." 

"Calm down, cowboy," Simon chuckled, walking across the bullpen to Jim's desk. Ever since the last kidnapping, Jim had been on edge... and even now, Jim was standing, looking for all the world like a dog at point. Simon could almost see his nose twitching. "He probably got stopped by someone and is BS-ing them. You know Sandburg." He turned towards his secretary. "Rhonda! Page Sandburg to call up here for me, would you, please." 

As Rhonda's amplified voice came over the PA, Simon turned to Ellison. "This can't be happening, not again," Jim was muttering, nearly bouncing in place. 

"Jim..." Simon gave him a puzzled look. "Stop with the nerves, okay? He's in a police station. What could possibly happen to him in a police station?" 

Jim gave him an incredulous stare, and Simon backpedaled. "Okay, never mind, forget I said that. Call his cell. He's got it with him, right?" 

With unsteady fingers, Jim grabbed the phone and dialed. Shortly, he turned the phone out so Simon could hear the recording, "...is out of range or has their phone turned off. Please try again later." 

"It was on, Simon. He called me from the range." Jim's voice was controlled but soft, and the panic in his eyes gave Simon pause. 

"Jim, it's okay." Glancing around, Simon asked the group in general, "Anyone remember when Sandburg left the bullpen?" 

"Sandburg?" Brown looked up and frowned. "He got on the elevator as I got off, coming back into the office. That was -- let me check the logs." He did, then looked up, frowning. "Damn. That was three-fifteen -- over an hour ago." 

Simon and Jim blinked at the detective for a moment, then Simon grabbed Jim's phone and dialed the number for Evidence. "Captain Banks here. Is my man Sandburg still down there? -- No? When did he leave? -- What? No, he went down for Ellison, over an hour ago. -- What?! -- No, _you_ called _me_. For Ellison to come down and sign for something." Simon's frown grew thunderous. He could tell Jim was listening in to both ends of the conversation, as the man's face drained of all color. "No, I already paged him!" Abruptly, Simon slammed the phone down. After only a moment, he picked it back up, dialing quickly. "This is Captain Banks. Order a lock-down, possible intruder alert. Right now. And put out an APB on Blair Sandburg, missing from the station." Throwing the phone on its cradle, he looked around at his staff. "Brown, Connor, you're with us -- take the elevator, we'll take the stairs. Rafe, Thomas, up to the roof. We're headed down to Evidence." 

The sirens went off as they hit the stairs, and Simon could hear the PA issuing orders. He had a hard time keeping up with Jim, who was flying down the stairs so fast that if he slipped, he'd break his neck. Somehow they made it all the way down without injury and slammed out into the lower level corridor, headed towards Evidence. 

Lindsey Freeman was in charge of evidence lock-up; she looked up as they came charging around the corner and swallowed hard. "Captain Banks..." she started. 

Simon held up his hand to cut her off. "I got a call at about 3:15 from someone in Evidence... not you, Freeman... asking for Ellison. Something about needing his signature, that he'd forgotten it last night. Does that ring any bells?" 

"Captain, I'm the only one here today," she said, rubbing her swollen belly nervously. "Eddie and Sharon are out sick -- that bug that's going around. And, like I told you over the phone, I didn't call Detective Ellison." 

"Both your backups are out sick?" Jim demanded. 

She nodded. "I'm taking frequent bathroom breaks too, you know how it is. It's been kinda difficult today." She looked between the two men. "But I haven't seen Blair. Honest." 

Footsteps behind them made Jim and Simon turn -- it was Connor and Brown, coming down the hall from the elevators. "Nothing, sir," Connor said, giving Jim a sympathetic look. "I can't believe this could be happening again..." 

"Jim." Brown turned aside and leaned down, looking at something on the floor. "This was on Blair's shoulder when he got on the elevator." It was the Beanie Baby pig with the red cape. 

Jim swallowed hard. "Brown's right," was all he said. 

"All right, Brown, lock down this area. Freeman, don't touch anything. Connor, get Forensics down here to dust. Jim, you're with me -- we're going up to Monitoring Control." 

In the elevator, Simon reached out to Jim, who was standing stiffly, clenching his jaw. "I smelled him, Simon," Jim said, not looking at Simon. "As soon as I got down there. I could smell him. And gas too." 

"Gas?" Simon frowned. "You mean, like knock-out gas?" 

"Yeah. Faint, but there." 

"Jesus. Come on, let's go." The elevator stopped, and they ran down the hall to Monitoring. 

Captain Wagner, the man in charge of monitoring and securing the station, met them at the door. "Banks, Ellison. Where did your man disappear from?" 

"Evidence lock-up," Simon replied, nodding to the other captain. "We've pinned the time down to 3:15, plus or minus five minutes." 

"Goddamn." Wagner led them into the dark room. "We had a camera go out down there at that time. We had it replaced by 3:30, but..." 

Jim looked as if he wanted to hit something, and Simon, too, didn't seem that far from doing the same. "Show us." 

The tape showed Lindsey Freeman at her desk. At 3:12, she put a sign -- "Be right back" -- on the counter, then waddled off down the hall. Almost immediately, the tape began to break up, showing static, then the picture went away entirely. When it came back, the time stamp showed 3:28 and the hand of a technician replacing the camera. 

"We've been examining the camera. There're no obvious signs of tampering," Wagner said, "but we had no reason to think sabotage at all, until now." 

"Minus sixteen minutes," Simon muttered. "What else have you got? Anything out of the ordinary? Any deliveries in that time period?" 

It didn't take long for those tapes to be called up, and on the back loading dock, from 3:24 to 3:29, they watched three men wearing white coveralls load a large rolled-up carpet into a van. "Holy shit," Wagner breathed. "You think?" 

"Get me the license plate and put a description out on that van, Wagner. See if you can figure out where they came from. Jim, you're with me." Simon raced out of the monitoring room and once again found himself flying down the stairs, heading for the loading dock. Jim hadn't said anything since admitting he'd smelled Blair and gas in the elevator, but his face was tight and white. 

On the loading dock, Simon watched as Jim closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. After a moment, his eyes opened and he turned, once again looking like a hunting dog. He walked back into the building, then turned, frowning, as if casting about for something. Simon followed him up the hallway and to the freight elevator, which was still on that floor. They lifted the gate and walked into the large cabin, and Jim sank to his haunches. 

"Here. Carpet fibers. They brought him to the freight elevator, then rolled him in the carpet. We need Forensics here." Jim hung his head and sighed. "He's gone." 

Simon pulled his cell phone out and called Forensics, then called Wagner to request the tapes covering the elevator and the hallway from Evidence to the freight elevator. "It won't do you any good," Jim said dully after Simon issued his orders. "There's no camera on the freight elevator." 

"Shit!" Simon closed his cell phone and aimed a vicious kick at the padded walls of the elevator cab. Jim didn't move. 

* * *

By dawn the next morning, all anyone had managed to do was hit dead ends. The snatch -- in broad daylight from police headquarters -- was not only daring but incredibly professional. The van was found, abandoned, after having been reported stolen. The cameras didn't get clear enough images of the phony workmen's faces for an ID. There were no fingerprints or any other forensic evidence -- the carpet was found in the van, and Jim smelled Sandburg on it, but there was nothing to point to where it had come from. 

Acting on the assumption that the kidnappers had wanted Jim, and wouldn't know that Sandburg would respond instead, Simon had all of Jim's cases pulled, and assigned Megan and Rafe to go over them -- but since that had been done the last time too, to little avail, he didn't hold out much hope. 

* * *

It had been a long, long night. 

By eight the next morning, Jim was lying on Simon's couch, at Simon's insistence. Jim looked like shit and Simon could tell he was nearing the end of his rope. Two kidnappings so damn close to each other -- it was like a bad joke. Blair had barely managed to get over the last one. At least Simon knew that Daryl wasn't involved this time -- a small blessing. 

Simon was talking to Joel in the bullpen when the captain from the Burglary unit stopped by. "Simon, you got a minute?" he asked, and came over when Simon motioned him in. 

"What's up, Greg?" Simon asked, wearily scrubbing his face. 

"Needed to let you know something," Captain Montgomery said softly. "We had a B&E last night, First Union Bank over on 19th. The safe deposit boxes were cleaned out. When we got the list of renters, your man Ellison was on it." 

Simon frowned. "Ellison?" 

"Yeah. Under his and his partner's name. I didn't want to call him -- I heard what went down yesterday. Any luck so far?" 

"No, nothing," Simon said, turning to look into his office. Jim was sitting up and staring at him, obviously listening. "It's been a real bear. Look, Greg, I appreciate you letting me know. Keep me in the loop on it, would you?" 

Montgomery frowned. "What, you think they might be connected? Your man disappearing like that?" 

"Maybe. I don't know. Just -- keep me in the loop. Okay?" 

"Yeah, sure, Simon." Montgomery nodded, frowning, and turned to leave the bullpen. Simon went back into his office and closed the door. 

"Jesus God," Jim was whispering, over and over. His face was shocked and pale. 

Simon pulled a chair over to the sofa and straddled it backwards. "You heard that?" Not waiting for Jim's nod, he continued. "You're not telling me something." 

After a moment, Jim turned anguished eyes on him. "Send a team to the loft," he rasped. "There'll be evidence of a break in. I doubt they'll find anything, but you can never tell." 

"What?!" Simon jumped up and quickly opened the door to his office, calling Brown and Rafe over and sending them out. Then he returned, his eyes snapping in anger and frustration. "What aren't you telling me, Ellison?" he demanded quietly, taking his seat again. 

"You need to notify the Feds too," Jim said, burying his face in his hands. "Try to get that team that was out here last year, you remember, when that amulet was stolen. I forget their names, Molder or something like that." 

"Jim. What aren't you telling me?" 

Lifting red-rimmed and haunted eyes to Simon, Jim said, "They're after the amulet. The piece that Blair and I were given to watch over." Simon's eyes widened and he drew in a deep breath, but he didn't say anything. After a moment, Jim continued. "There are four pieces. There's -- there's evidence that they were initially guarded by Sentinels, hundreds of years ago. We don't know where the other three pieces are, but Sandburg and I were given one by his old friend, Tobias. The one who was murdered during a burglary last month." 

"I remember," Simon choked out. 

"When we found out about it, we were worried, but then nothing happened. Now though..." 

"You had it in the safe-deposit box?" 

Smiling without humor, Jim replied, "Well, we had _one_ of them. The first thing we did was to make several copies and hide them in various places. One of them was in the safe-deposit box. If the loft has been broken into -- and I'm sure it has -- they'll have realized they don't have the real piece." 

"Where's the real piece, then? At the loft?" 

"Simon, what you don't know can't hurt you," Jim mumbled, putting his hands back up to his face. 

Simon closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't believe this. Sandburg gets kidnapped for the second time in six months and now I find you're hiding some sort of super secret amulet. What is it, the Ark of the Covenant, or something?" 

"I don't know," Jim replied, his face still buried in his hands. "We're not sure what it does, if all the pieces were united. We don't want to find out." 

"Fuck." 

"Yeah." 

Watching Jim's shoulders heave as he struggled to get himself under control, Simon had a flash of sympathy. "You doing all right?" he asked quietly, putting one big hand on Jim's shoulder. 

"No." Jim took a deep breath. "My senses are all over the place, Simon. It's like I'm on hyper drive or something." 

"Protection instincts kicking in?" Simon asked softly. 

"I guess. I don't know. Blair would..." Jim swallowed noisily. "This is worse this time, for some reason. I don't know why." 

"I don't suppose you could use that -- that connection thingy you guys are supposed to have?" 

"Considering how well that worked the last time, no, I don't think so." 

Not knowing what to say or what to do made Simon feel incredibly helpless. "I'm -- I'm going to call the Feds. Let me get the name of those two who came out last year, and see if I can get them on the case. You want something? Some more coffee?" 

"No, if I have any more I'm going to float away," Jim replied, his attempt at humor only sounding sad. "I'm going to hit the can. I'll be right back." 

After a few minutes research, Simon came up with the names of the agents who had come out over the amulet last year -- Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. He even had their direct numbers; but unfortunately, Scully was on maternity leave, and Mulder's line was answered by someone who didn't recognize the agent's name. 

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Simon called his friend, A.D. Walter Skinner, hoping to reach the man. He didn't; but from his secretary he did find out more information on Fox Mulder. The agent was missing and presumed dead. So much for that. 

Out of desperation, Simon called the local Fed office and spoke to the local A.D., Ellie Kirby, who promised to send someone over shortly. Jim, looking like a lost ghost, wandered in during the last half of the conversation, and stood looking out the window, his hands behind his back at parade rest. 

Hanging up the phone, Simon pulled his glasses off and rubbed his tired eyes. "They'll be sending someone over shortly, Jim. Neither of the two agents you talked to last year are available -- one's on maternity leave and the other's missing, presumed dead. I've left a message with my friend Walt's secretary for more info, but I think we're SOL there. What do you think, Jim? Jim?" 

Jim didn't move, and it looked, from Simon's perspective, as if he was barely breathing. Snatching his glasses up, Simon leapt to his feet and walked over to his friend. "Jim? Are you there, buddy?" Holy shit -- it was one of those damned zones that Sandburg was always talking about. "Jim! Come on, man, snap out of it." Simon touched Jim's face and patted his cheeks gently, trying to break through. Jim's eyes were open but not focused and he didn't respond to any stimuli. 

Beginning to panic, Simon rushed to the door and beckoned Connor. Puzzled, she stood and let herself be pulled into Simon's office. "Connor, you've got to help me," he frantically whispered. "Jim's in one of those zone things that Sandburg's always talking about. I can't get him out of it! Did Blair ever tell you what to do? You've got to help me bring him out of it!" 

"Me?" Connor squeaked. "Sandy's only talked about them once or twice, I don't know what to do!" 

"Well neither do I, and the Feds will be here soon! Come on, help me figure out how to snap him out of it." Simon closed his office door, drew the blinds and pushed Connor over to Jim. 

She stood between him and the window, waving her hands in front of his face. "Come on, mate, you're scaring us here. Ellison!" With a grimace, she drew back one hand and slapped his face, hard, but not so hard that he woke up. "Damn. That didn't do it..." 

Wracking his brains, Simon dredged a bit of information up. "Sandburg said that he does this when he's... he's concentrating, right? Concentrating on one sense. Right?" 

Megan furrowed her brow in thought. "Yeah, I think I remember that. One sense, huh? Well, let's hope it was sight..." She put one hand behind Jim's head and the other over his eyes, cutting into his line of sight and blinkering him. "Jim? Can you hear me, mate? C'mon, you daft bugger, come out of it..." 

After just a moment, Jim seemed to sag and then shook his head. "Connor? What are you doing?" he asked, his voice raspy. "And why does my cheek smart?" 

Both Megan and Simon sighed. "You did one of those zone things, Ellison," Simon said gruffly. "We were trying to get you out of it." 

"I _zoned_?" Jim looked between them, incredulous. "I haven't zoned in -- shit, in over a year. Or more." 

Simon's phone rang and he went to answer it. "Just make sure you don't do it for another year, all right? Banks. Yeah, Brown. What do you have?" 

Both Connor and Ellison watched him as he listened. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Forensics there yet? Okay, keep me advised. I've got the Feds on their way here now. Thanks." 

Simon put the phone back with a sigh. "You were right, Jim. Brown says the loft is trashed. They'll need you to verify that nothing's missing, but he said it didn't look as though much got taken." 

"I'll know if they got any of the others as soon as I walk in," Jim said, sitting heavily on the sofa. 

"Other what? Do you know what's going on, Jim? Why was Sandy taken?" Megan looked between the two men blankly. 

Jim didn't seem inclined to reply, so Simon filled her in on the amulet. She nodded when he talked about it. "I remember, the Owichika Amulet. Sandy told me a bit about it. You've got one of the pieces?" Jim nodded. "Well. There's some motive... but it still doesn't explain why they took Sandy." Both Jim and Simon looked at her and she nodded. "Think about it. Were they after Jim? If so, why? And why rob the bank and wreck the loft _after_ taking Sandy, thinking he was Jim?" 

"She's right, that doesn't add up," Jim said softly. "If they realize they don't have me, they should be on the horn, trying to get a swap, Blair for the piece of the amulet. But they haven't." 

"So maybe they still want you, specifically?" Simon said, and shuddered. "Do you think we'll hear from them for a swap then?" 

"I don't know!" Jim nearly shouted, smacking the leather sofa hard with his fist. "Goddammit, I don't know." 

Megan sat down next to him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. "We'll find him," she murmured. 

* * *

The Feds came and went, taking copies of certain case files with them, but making no promises and, oddly enough, not pressuring for any of their ideas. Jim signaled to Simon not to let on about the amulet and, grumpily, Simon agreed. 

Simon wouldn't allow Jim outside the building without at least a two-man escort, which at first irritated the hell out of Jim. But on a run to the loft for clean clothes, Jim's senses picked up a tail, and, when Joel confirmed it, he started to get pissed. They tried to set up a trap for the tail, but whoever it was, was far too good -- they almost managed to turn the tables and trap Connor, Simon and Joel. Jim finally listened after that; after just a quick look at the devastation inside the loft, he let Brown pack a suitcase for him and went back to the station. 

Not that he would have wanted to stay at the loft -- the catastrophe was thorough and heartbreaking, even in a quick look. The sofa was largely destroyed, as were the chairs, the bed upstairs, even portions of the walls and floors. From his quick look, Jim told Simon that two more of the fakes were removed, but he assured him the original was still intact. From the station, Simon arranged for a constant watch on the loft and also arranged for a cleaning service to come and get started on the repairs, not telling Jim he had done so. 

Rafe escorted Jim down to the locker room and waited while he showered, shaved and changed, pretending not to notice the pain on Jim's face. Jim was grateful for that; for some reason, this situation was infinitely worse than last year, when both Blair and Daryl had been missing. He wasn't sure why, but suspected his stupid Sentinel instincts were in overdrive. 

By late afternoon they were all exhausted, short tempered and punchy. Jim had moved beyond growling at everyone to ignoring everyone, not that that was much better. Simon arranged for Jim to go to a safe house for the night, and when Jim didn't even fight him over it, he must have figured Jim had lost it. 

The house was a small one in a busy neighborhood, and what looked like half the force was guarding it. Ellison might not be well-liked, but he _was_ a cop, and Sandburg _was_ well-liked. The police had good reason to watch over the hurting Sentinel, but Jim refused to let himself think why. It also surprised him when Simon followed him into the house and set himself up in the front room. 

"You don't have to stay, sir," Jim said, aware that his voice was a monotone. "There's enough firepower around here to start World War III." 

Simon shrugged. "Indulge me," he said. Then, from his overnight case -- where had he found time to get that, Jim wondered -- he pulled out a bottle of Scotch. "I think we both could use a bit of this tonight. I know I could." 

Jim swallowed. "Yeah, I could drink a bit." 

* * *

Pouring Jim into bed wasn't difficult; Simon was only slightly buzzed, but Jim, having drunk nearly three-quarters of a bottle of fine Scotch, was limply, completely plastered. And depressed, but it didn't take him long to pass out, and that's what Simon had been aiming for. 

Watching Jim try to push his fear and panic down had been rough, but listening to Jim try to avoid talking about Sandburg had been heartbreaking. Simon looked down at his best detective, snoring on the small bed in the bedroom, and shook his head sadly. They needed help, and they needed it now. But it didn't look as though help would be coming from the Feds; Simon had been getting the run-around all day, and not even Walt would return his calls. 

Something else was going on -- Jim realized it almost immediately, although Simon didn't want to think about how -- and Simon had the sinking suspicion that the situation was only going to get worse before improving. He sat down in the living room on a comfortable chair with a grunt, wiping his weary eyes behind his glasses. What a nightmare. 

After a few moments, he reached for his big day planner and phone book. It only took him a second to find the names he wanted -- it was the middle of the night over there, but that wasn't important. What _was_ important was that they needed help, all the help they could get. 

Picking up the phone, Simon dialed. 

* * *

Jane Leighton was having the most wonderful dream. A man, who looked like a cross between Fabio and Harrison Ford, was wooing her passionately, tremulously admitting to her that he couldn't possibly live without her, begging her to come away and be with him forever. Of course, she was all ready to agree, when she felt something small and soft rub up against her leg. She looked down to see an arctic fox staring up at her -- if foxes could have expressions, this one would be smirking. "What?" she asked it, exasperated. The fabulous hunk of male -- still holding her -- let out a groan, and she turned back to him -- only to discover he was no longer a cross between two of her favorite fantasies, but was, instead, merely Jim Ellison. Huh? 

He moaned and pulled away from her, sinking to his knees and holding his head as if it pained him. As Jane watched, he slowly changed into a beautiful black cat, which lay before her, panting, clearly in pain. Far off in the distance, she heard the equally pained howl of a wolf, and her fox replied by yipping. That yipping went on and on... 

Until she woke up and realized she was hearing the phone ringing. "Shit," she muttered, reluctant to move from her warm bed but knowing -- somehow -- that the call would be important. With a heavy sigh, she pulled herself from under her quilt and slid her feet into the fuzzy slippers Marty had given her the previous Christmas. Her robe was draped over the end of her bed, and, still muzzy from sleep, she pulled it on as she made her way to her cousin's bedroom. 

Marty was sitting on the side of her bed, speaking into the phone. "Aye, sir, I remember. Is something wrong?" When she saw Jane standing in the doorway, yawning, she put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, "It's Captain Banks, Ellison's boss from Cascade." 

Shaking her head with foreboding, Jane sat on the bed next to Marty and listened in. Her cousin obligingly tilted the phone out so she could hear better. 

"...didn't know who else to call," Banks was saying. His voice sounded funny, but it could be the international connection. 

"All right, sir, but what's the problem?" she asked again. 

"It's Sandburg," Banks said. "He's been kidnapped." Jane gasped. "It was a real professional snatch, from headquarters in broad daylight. And there's... well, there're other things, other factors that I can't talk about over the phone that are causing problems. Jim's... not handling it well. I just got him roaring drunk and poured him into bed." 

"Faith," Marty murmured, wrapping one arm around Jane and squeezing. "D'you have a suspect then?" Marty asked. 

"No, nothing," Banks replied, sounding weary. "There's been nothing, and it's been over twenty-four hours. Well, except for the fact that the loft has been broken into and trashed, and I've got Ellison in a safe house with a good portion of the force guarding him." Marty and Jane looked at each other. "I -- I need someone with your _special abilities_ MacLachlan," Banks said quietly. "Can you come?" 

"We'll come on the first available plane," Marty said firmly. "I'll need to clear it with Graham, my superior, but as soon as that's done, we'll be on the road." 

"Thank you," Banks said, sounding very relieved. 

"How can I reach you?" Marty asked, and Jane jumped up to get her cousin paper and pen as Banks read off email addresses and cell phone numbers. 

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, MacLachlan," Banks said, then rang off. 

Jane looked at her cousin. "The phone ringing woke me from a dream, cuz," she said quietly. "I saw Jim and his spirit guide, and heard Blair's." 

"What a load of shite," Marty murmured. "I canna believe this; Blair just sent us an email on what happened to him a few months past. Are the lads cursed or something?" There was nothing Jane could say to that, and finally, Marty spoke again. "What's the time? Blast. We'd be getting up in a bit anyway. Think you could fire up that beast of yours to get us good tickets?" 

"Yeah," Jane said, rising and heading back into her room. "At least we shouldn't have any connection problems at this hour. You calling Graham?" 

"Not for a wee bit, I'm thinking," Marty replied, pulling her own robe on then heading to the kitchen. "I'll make us some tea." 

"Sounds good." 

* * *

Jim woke slowly, aware of a pounding in his head and a sour, queasy feeling in his stomach. Without thinking, he reached out for Blair but his knuckles hit a wall instead, which brought him to full, pulse-pounding awareness rather suddenly. 

Blair was _gone_. Again. And someone was after the amulet. Goddammit, he'd never wanted to be a guardian of that thing anyway... 

"Jim? You awake? I've got some stuff for you here, mate." A soft voice behind him -- Megan. 

Painfully, Jim rolled over -- aware that he was in a single bed still fully dressed from the evening before -- to see Megan's sympathetic face. She had a cup of coffee in one hand and a big glass of water in the other, and a packet of Alka-Seltzer between two fingers. Sighing, Jim pulled himself more or less upright and reached for the water and the medicine. 

Megan put the coffee on the small bedside table and perched on the single bed opposite Jim's. She remained blissfully silent until Jim had finished the medicated water and was starting on the coffee. "Not to put a bad face on it, mate, but you need a shower." 

Jim grimaced at her and gratefully slurped his coffee. "Where's Simon?" he asked, surprised that his voice still actually worked. 

"At the office," she replied. "He told me to let you sleep. It's almost noon. We need to get some food into you and then get you back in the saddle." 

Carefully putting the coffee down, Jim scrubbed his face with both hands, trying hard to keep from sobbing in sheer frustration. "He shouldn't have let me sleep," he mumbled. 

"Jim, you needed it," Megan said softly. "We all did. And there's been -- well, there's nothing new." She sighed. "We've got coppers out all over town, shaking every tree and rattling every cage. Nothing. Except a remarkable reduction in crime." 

"Well, there's that, then." Steeling himself, Jim picked up his coffee and finished it. "Let me get a shower and change, Connor. Then we can head in." 

"Not until you've eaten," she said, adamant. When he would have objected, she raised her hand. "Sandy's trained me well, mate. You are going to eat. I am not going to risk a scalping from him that I failed to care for his Sentinel." She smiled sadly at him and stood, then gave his shoulder a squeeze. 

"Thanks, Megan," Jim rasped as she walked out of the room. He knew she stopped and looked back at him from the doorway, but he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. 

He did feel more human once he had showered, shaved and changed, and choked down the toast and eggs Megan forced on him. He was surprised when she joined him in the truck, and equally surprised to find an escort of two unmarked cars all the way from the safe house to the precinct. At his questioning look, she shrugged. "We had a few -- uh, unsavory types hanging around, asking questions about you. Hired muscle." She grinned at him. "The fellows needed a bit of exercise anyway." 

Jim actually chuckled, which surprised him. "You get anything from them?" 

"No, unfortunately," Megan said, with a sort of smug disappointment. "Not for lack of trying. Though Simon wouldn't let us use the rubber hoses." 

"Well, damn, Connor. I thought you could get around that by now." He smiled at her and she patted his arm. 

Major Crime was a hornet's nest. There were uniforms everywhere, and it seemed that everyone in the precinct managed to stop by at some point to see Jim or to ask after Sandburg. Jim spent most of the day in Simon's office or in the adjacent conference room, going over old case files, searching for information on the other pieces of the amulet. 

At one point early on, Simon pulled him aside and spoke softly to him. "I received an email from my friend in Washington," he said. "From his own personal Hotmail account. Encrypted. Man, I never thought I'd be glad of the day when Sandburg taught me how to use PGP. Anyway, he had a little bit of news for us." 

"Spill, Simon," Jim said, anticipation coiling in his stomach. 

"You remember how your amulet case last year ended?" 

"As I recall, it didn't," Jim replied. "Whatshisname, the one who's dead now, he said he knew who had it but said that the guy was untouchable." 

"Mulder. The Fed's name was Mulder, and Walt tells me he might not be dead, but he's definitely missing. And the untouchable guy, well, he's definitely dead now. His name was Krycek and, from what I get reading between the lines, Walt nailed him personally. About a month ago." 

Jim blinked. "The dates..." 

"It would have been about a week before your friend Tobias was murdered." 

"Jesus, Simon." Jim shook his head and leaned against the wall. The floor suddenly seemed very unsteady. "Then whoever this is..." 

"Yeah. You get the picture. It might be that whatever piece this Krycek had now belongs to whoever has Sandburg. And if he gets your piece..." 

"He'll have two. Or more. There are, or at least _were_ , two in the hands of private collectors, but who knows where they are now. We don't even know who the 'collectors' are." Jim closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself and think. 

"Listen, I called in the reinforcements last night," Simon said, his voice concerned. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I didn't get the email confirming their arrival until a couple of hours ago." 

"Huh?" Jim said stupidly. "Reinforcements?" 

"MacLachlan and her guide -- what's her name, Julie?" 

"Jane," Jim said, blinking stupidly. "You called Marty and Jane?" 

"Yeah, last night, after I poured you into bed. They'll be here some time after six or so." Simon looked abashed at Jim's surprise. "I -- I didn't know who else to call, Jim. You zoned. You have any idea how freaked out that made me? And if this is going to be as weird as I think it already is, we're gonna need all the help we can get." 

Jim bit his lip and looked at his shoes. "Yeah. Yeah. It's all right, Simon. I -- I'm glad you called them. Thank you." 

Simon smiled sadly. "I just hope they can help." 

"Well, they won't hurt," Jim said, realizing that he was looking forward to their arrival. 

* * *

The flight had been long and bumpy and exhausting. Marty spent most of it slightly zoned on a music tape, but Jane had no such resources available to her. She tried to sleep, but a wailing baby in the back of the plane kept her from doing more than dozing. They landed in Cascade, local time 7:30 p.m., which was some godawful time back home in Scotland. 

Bemused, Jane wondered when it was that Scotland had become 'home' and Cascade a place she visited every now and then. She certainly didn't miss the rain she saw sluicing against the windows of the plane as it inched in to the waiting gate. Not wanting to fight the flow, she waited for the majority of the passengers to disembark before rising and stretching, then reaching down and shaking Marty's shoulder. "Come on, cuz," she said briskly "We're here." 

Marty shook her head hard and yawned. "Aye, we are. Well, then, let's get going." 

At the end of the gate stood a tall redhead with a homemade sign: "Marty and Jane." The two women walked right up to her and Marty smiled. "Megan. Nice to see you again, lass." 

"Hullo, Marty, Jane," Megan said, shaking both their hands. "Wish it weren't under such circumstances, but I'm glad to see you too." 

"Same here, Megan," Jane replied. 

"Let's go down to baggage and get you out of here," Megan said, leading the two women away. 

"How's Jim doing then?" Marty asked as they wended their way through the crowd. 

Megan sighed. "Not good, really. He's been in rough shape, I'm afraid. We're going back to the loft. Simon had a cleaning crew go through it, and, though we had Jim at a safe house last night, there's really no sense in keeping him there." 

"Have you had any word from the kidnappers?" Jane asked anxiously. 

"No, none," Megan said, her voice reflecting her frustration. "There've been a couple of thugs hanging around, and we had a tail at one point on Jim, but they're all hired muscle. They don't know anything." 

"Damn," Marty muttered. 

The drive back to the loft was uneventful. Getting off the elevator on the third floor, however, they found Simon impatiently waiting for them at the door to number 307. "Thank God. Jim's zoned again," he hissed. "I can't get him out of it." 

All three women dropped the bags they were carrying and rushed into the loft. Jane and Marty both gasped as they took in the devastation -- it was clear it had been cleaned, but most of the furniture was still slashed and the books, curios and plants that had lined the walls were largely missing or destroyed. The hardwood floor was scarred and even bricks were missing from one wall. Jim was sitting on the remains of the sofa, gazing at something in his hands, and both Marty and Jane hurried over to flank him. 

Jane nearly sobbed when she saw what Jim was holding -- what was once the beautiful glass wolf she had crafted for them. It was in three pieces, and he held it in his hands, hardly breathing. She reached out and gently took it from him, then cradled one of his lax hands in hers. Marty did the same with his other hand, and their anguished eyes met over his bowed head. 

"Jim, Jim, it's Jane," Jane said softly, stroking the hand in hers. "Don't worry about the wolf, Jim. I'll make you and Blair another. You need to come back now, you need to be here for us, so we can find Blair. Jim? Come on, Jim, you can do it." 

"Jamie?" Marty whispered, stroking his hair. "It's time to come home now, lad." 

Jane continued talking softly, and shortly, Jim's shoulders began to sag. He blinked and took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly as he pulled out of the zone. "Jane?" he whispered, and once again Jane and Marty's eyes met -- Marty's filled with tears at the lost tone in Jim's voice. 

"Aye, Jamie, it's Janey and Marty, we're here for you, now," she murmured. 

Jim lifted his head and turned towards Marty, then towards Jane. The devastation in his eyes nearly broke Jane's heart, but she knew she had to be strong for him, not vice-versa. She gently pulled his head down to her shoulder and, though she knew he wouldn't cry, she soothed him as if he were wracked with sobs. 

* * *

With Simon's help, Jane got Jim situated in the mostly restored bed upstairs. Despite the drunken sleep he'd gotten the night before, he was completely and utterly exhausted, and they hoped he would sleep a while, safe in his own bed. Neither Jane nor Marty were up to anything major -- as it was nearly dawn, Scottish time, and they were exhausted -- but both wanted Simon to fill them in on what had been happening. Marty brewed tea with what was left of Blair's stash while they talked quietly. Megan helped Jane make up the futon in the spare room, as well as a couple of camp cots that Simon had brought over. 

"Megan will stay here with you in the loft tonight, as well as two teams on permanent stake out, one in the front and one in the alley," Simon told her. "The phone is tapped; if you get anything, we'll have a tape of it." 

"I take it there's been no news then, since Meg picked us up?" Marty asked him, leaning wearily against the kitchen island. 

"No, none at all." Simon sighed. "We only got here about half an hour before you did. I'd hired a cleaning service to pick up the worst of the mess and try to get the place back in some semblance of order -- there's really less damage than it looks." 

"You'll have to tell us about these mysterious 'other factors' now, Cap'n," she said, spooning tea into the pot and waiting for the water to boil. "What was it you couldna' say over the phone?" 

Simon walked around the island and sat heavily in one of the two remaining kitchen chairs. "It's -- an amulet. Connor knows what it's called, the owa-something. Last year, Jim and Blair were primary on a case where a piece of this thing was stolen from the museum here." 

"I remember that," Jane said, returning to the kitchen. The kettle looked ready to boil so she lifted it off the burner and poured water into the waiting pot. "The Owichika amulet. Blair sent me an email that talked a bit about it." 

"Right. They were primary on the case, but the thing was never found," Simon said, nodding. "The Feds were out here, and they apparently discovered who had stolen it, but the guy was one of those untouchable, unfindable types. Name of Krycek." 

Marty inhaled sharply, and Simon twisted to look at her. "Alex Krycek?" she asked softly. At Simon's slow nod, she shook her head in shock. "He's been on every alert list Interpol has sent out for the last five years," she said. "I'd heard tell he was dead." 

"You heard right," Simon confirmed. "I had that confirmed this morning. His death, apparently, coincided with the death of Blair's friend, Tobias McFee. This Tobias was the one who, last year, turned over _his_ piece of the amulet to Jim and Blair, for them to guard." 

"How many pieces are there?" Marty asked, looking between Simon and Jane. 

"Four," Simon said, and Jane nodded in agreement. "Jim and Blair had theirs hidden, and had copies made and hid _those_ , too. We know whoever has Blair has a couple of the copies, but Jim confirmed for me that the original is still safe." Simon blew out a sigh and ran his hand over his head. "Not that he'll tell me _where_ the original is." 

"That's probably for the best," Marty said. 

"Why would anybody go to so much trouble over a stupid amulet?" Jane asked, her quiet voice filled with frustration. 

"Oh, I don't know," Simon said, rubbing his eyes. "Jim says there's some damn legend, something about the end of the world if the thing is ever put back together. Frankly, ladies, I'm sick and tired of this mystical shit. If I find the thing, I'm liable to melt it down for scrap." 

Marty snorted in amusement, and Megan rolled her eyes. Jane simply looked thoughtful as she sipped her tea. "Well, we're here now," Marty said, yawning. "Let's get settled, lass, and let these people get their rest." 

"I'll be staying," Megan said. "By the by, I know you didn't bring anything, but I've got my backup Sig Sauer if you want it." She put a small satchel on the table and pulled out the deadly instrument. 

"That would be a kindness, Meg," Marty agreed, taking the gun and checking the clip. 

"I thought you Brits didn't carry weapons," Simon said, sounding amused. 

"Just because we don't carry doesn't mean I can't use, Captain," Marty said primly. Then she continued, her voice grim, "And I won't hesitate to, to protect Jamie." 

"Good." Simon nodded, looking satisfied. "I'll sleep better tonight, then, and be over here with breakfast at dawn." 

"Aye, sir." 

* * *

In the middle of the night, Jim woke. He was aware he was home, but it wasn't the same... he was alone on the big bed. Simon had hired a crew to restore and clean up some of the damage to the loft -- and he needed to think of a way to thank him for that -- but still, the sight of it had been a shock. 

Whoever had tossed it had done a very professional job. Two of the copies had been found... one in their small, fireproof safe -- that was kept in plain sight in the walk-in closet -- and the other behind one of the bricks under the staircase. The other copy hadn't been disturbed though, and the loft hadn't been bugged. 

The sight of the bed upstairs... the mattress had been torn into on one side... nearly made him scream, but it was the remains of the beautiful glass wolf that had really done him in. The panther had come through with only a small scratch, but the wolf had been shattered, and with it, Jim's composure. 

He felt like a world-class dork, falling apart like he did on Jane's shoulder, but he was painfully, dreadfully glad of their presence. With a sigh, he sat up, pushing away his anguish over the empty half of the bed, and padded downstairs to use the bathroom. When he emerged, Marty met him at the French doors. 

"Are y'all right, Jamie?" she whispered, touching his arm gently. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," he replied, rubbing his head. "Sorry about..." 

"No need, lad." Marty gave him a brief hug, then pushed him toward the stairs. "I know how I'd feel if it were Janey. Go on with you now. You need to sleep." 

He smiled gently at her. "Thanks, Marty," he said, hoping the sincerity in his voice would convey his gratitude. She smiled back and returned to her cot. 

His heart somehow lighter, Jim lay back down on the bed, pulling one of Blair's pillows to himself. Before he realized it, he was asleep. 

* * *

Simon was as good as his word, and appeared at the loft door with the shift change at six a.m. Since he also had warm Krispy Kreme donuts and take-out from the diner around the corner, they weren't inclined to give him grief for his early arrival. Jim even found he had an appetite again, especially when Megan proposed to Simon in an attempt to get more than her share of donuts. 

"I had a call late last evening, Jim," Simon told him at one point, pulling him aside. "From your friend, Jack Kelso." 

Jim's donut froze half way to his mouth. "Jack called?" 

"Yeah. You didn't call him, did you?" Simon asked. 

"No," Jim affirmed, confused. "What did he say?" 

"Well, it's more along the lines of what he _didn't_ say, if you get me," Simon said. "He wants to come over and meet with you. I think... I think he might have something." 

"What did you tell him?" Jim tamped down a leap of hope in his chest. 

"Actually, I told him to meet us here this morning." Simon looked up and saw that Marty, at least, was paying close attention to their conversation. "He should be here in an hour or so, unless I call him to cancel. He said he's bringing someone with him. I hope I didn't overstep, but I'd rather meet him here than at the station." 

"Yeah, me too," Jim said, nodding to Simon. "Too many eyes at the station." 

"My thought exactly," Simon agreed. "And -- well, depending on what he says -- we might not want to get the Feds involved in it." 

Both Jim and Marty heard the arrival of Jack Kelso's modified van while they all were working on repairing the loft. It was still early, but food, sleep and company had fortified Jim to the point where he felt almost normal. Jack was wheeled into the loft by an older, heavy-set man whose very demeanor almost screamed "Fed" to Jim, although he couldn't say why. After introductions, it turned out he was right. 

The first thing Jack did after getting his wheelchair settled in front of Jim, Marty and Simon -- all sitting on the sofa -- was to give Jim a very intense look, and ask, "Jim. Is the loft bugged?" 

He knew. Jim gaped at him for a second, unable to reply due to the shock of realization. Kelso knew about his Sentinel abilities -- hell, it made sense he'd know. The man was far from dumb. 

Luckily, Marty picked up the slack. After giving both Jim and Jack a studied look, she replied. "No. There's naught here. The place is secure." 

Jack turned to assess her. Jim had merely introduced her as 'a friend of the family, so to speak', but now shook himself and called up his voice. "Marty's actually Inspector Martise MacLachlan, from Edinburgh," he said. 

"Still a 'family friend', though, I take it?" Jack asked pointedly. 

Jim blinked slowly and nodded. "Sorry, I -- you just took me by surprise for a minute there." 

"Don't know why," Kelso replied blandly. "After all, it's not like there's anything to hide here, right?" Realization dawned and Jim began to breathe easier. Yes, Kelso had figured it out, but Jack was sharp... he wouldn't let himself believe it, probably under the theory that what he didn't -- or maybe _wouldn't_ \-- know couldn't hurt him. 

Wise man. 

The man with Kelso -- introduced as George Regan -- had been following the conversation with some confusion, and now he spoke up. "Detective, I'm not entirely sure what's going on here -- nor am I sure that I want to know -- but I flew out from Langley last night to give you some information that might be of help to finding your partner." He opened a large folio on his lap and looked up to Jack. 

"Captain Banks," Kelso said, "we have a mutual acquaintance in Washington, as it turns out. He instructed me to give you his best." 

"In Washington?" Simon said, frowning. "But... he works on the wrong side of the river, I thought?" 

"Some of us think there should be no 'wrong side of the river,' Captain," Regan said wryly. "Unfortunately, we have to keep that feeling a secret. Jack's friend is a friend of mine as well, and when word of the kidnapping finally trickled down to us, well, we ended up putting our heads together." 

"George is going a bit out on a limb for you, Jim," Jack said softly. 

"Nonsense, Jack," Regan replied mildly, "I'm merely out here visiting an old friend who's gotten sick. You are beginning to look better, though, I must say -- must be due to my calming presence." Jim and Jack both smiled and Regan chuckled. "Anyway... The Agency got word of something big in the wind about a month ago, when one of our 'most wanted' was eliminated -- a name I believe you know. Krycek?" Jim nodded and swallowed. "Good. Saves time then. A some-time colleague of this Krycek, named Teodor Gnosovelich -- a.k.a. Ted Gregory -- disappeared about the same time, and rumor was that he was onto something hot, something that involved the name Ellison." 

Jane gasped, but no one moved as Regan continued. "We had no clue it was you, Detective, and no reason to connect you. But when your partner was kidnapped, the name Ellison came out of Washington and rang bells in Langley." 

"And when you tried to contact your friend in Washington, Captain," Jack said to Simon, "that set off other alarms. He called me since he knew I'm usually aware of everything that happens out here, then sent you an email, I believe." 

"Yes, I got it yesterday," Simon choked. 

"Washington doesn't usually talk to Langley, you know," Regan said, his mouth turning up into a grin. "It's a damn shame, but one that we can usually live with. But not in this case. Something's going on, and it's something big, and all we're really certain of is that it involves you, Ellison, your partner, Gnosovelich, and an item that was stolen from a collector in New York two weeks ago." 

Jim paled. "Oh, shit," he murmured. 

"Ah," Regan said, clearing his throat. "Ah. So. It's like that, then. Well, trust me, I don't really want to know -- I'm up for retirement in five years. But Jack is a good friend, and he cares about you and your partner, so for him, I'll give you the rest of it. Here's the only known picture of Gnosovelich, which isn't very good, I'm afraid, and a copy of his bio. Of course, I have no idea how you came by that." 

"Of course," Jim replied, looking through the thick folder. 

"And one last bit of information, which I think may be the most significant of all. We know that Krycek and Gnosovelich worked together -- sometimes. Krycek was a double -- or maybe even triple or quadruple -- agent, who worked for the Russians, the Iraqis, hell, probably the Martians -- and even for the FBI at one time, as an agent." 

"What?" Jim exclaimed, looking up in shock. 

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. Our mutual friend isn't proud of that, but -- well, at least the snake is dead. There's a third man who also worked with them from time to time, and who may have more information on this hot prospect, whatever it is. In fact, I'd be almost willing to bet my pension on it. He may be your only hope in finding out where Gnosovelich is and what he's up to." 

"Well, then, _he's_ not dead at least," Simon murmured, reading over Jim's shoulder. 

"Oh, no, far from it," Regan agreed, rewrapping his folio. "And he's easy to find, to boot. Although I don't know how you'll get in to see him -- I can't help you with that." 

"Why, where is he?" Jim asked, looking up to meet Regan's eyes. 

"Leavenworth. As a matter of fact, Detective, you helped put him there -- something I am quite grateful for, by the way, which is another reason why I don't mind helping you in this. His name is Lee Brackett." 

* * *

"If this works, Simon and I are flying to Kansas alone," Jim told Marty that afternoon. They were in Simon's office. 

"Bollocks to that," Marty replied calmly. "You won't be leaving us behind, Ellison." 

"Simon..." 

"Hell, no," Simon said, raising his hands. "You think I want to fly out there with a Sentinel who might zone on me? Forget it, I'm on her side." Marty smirked at Jim. "Although I have no idea how we're going to sell it..." 

"We don't even know if this will work," Jim said morosely. He grimaced at Marty and Jane. "But you two need to be waiting out in the bullpen regardless. If whatshername--" 

"Kirby," Simon supplied. 

"Right, Kirby. If she doesn't go for it, we could all be in deep kimchee." 

"She'll go for it," Jane said, confident for some reason. Simon, Jim and Marty all turned towards her in surprise. "She will," Jane insisted. "I've -- I've got a feeling, okay?" 

"Oh, shit, not another of them," Simon moaned, and Jim shook his head. 

"I'd still rather the two of you stayed here," Jim finished. 

Marty snorted in amusement and stood. She opened her mouth to say something, but just then, Rhonda ran into the room. "Just got the call from downstairs, they're here, Simon," she said softly. 

"Great, just great. You two -- out. But listen in. Send them in when they get here, Rhonda." 

Assistant Director Ellie Kirby was a deceptively small woman. She only came up to Simon's armpit and had soft brown hair shot with silver threads. But she wasn't in the room with them for five minutes before they realized why she was in charge of the FBI regional office in Cascade. 

She came in with an aide, sat at Simon's conference table and put a thin file on the table in front of her. "I don't know why you demanded this meeting, Captain," she said softly, her light southern lilt belying the steel they could hear beneath her voice. "I have nothing new to share with you, and anything you've found I'm certain we already know about." 

"Actually, Agent Kirby," Simon said, smiling gently at her, "all we really want to know is when we can get out to Leavenworth to meet with Brackett." 

Her eyes slightly narrowed and her heart just barely speeded up. Jim was impressed. "Brackett?" she asked calmly. 

"Yes, Lee Brackett," Simon confirmed. "Since, as you've pointed out, you know everything we know, you are of course cognizant of the fact that he's our best bet into the mind of Gnosovelich. So when are we flying out to Kansas?" 

Her heart rate almost doubled at that, and she glared at Simon and Jim. "Actually, to get to Leavenworth, you have to fly into Kansas City, Missouri," she said blandly. "But it won't do you a lick of good. Where did you get that name, Captain?" 

"We have our own sources, Kirby," Jim said, studying her carefully. "Just as, I'm sure, you have yours. We need to talk to Brackett. I'm sure you've already done so and not found him forthcoming." 

The silence lengthened as Kirby faced down Ellison. "Lee Brackett is tighter than a horse's ass in the summer," she finally agreed, and her aide shot her a surprised look. "I don't see why, however, I should let two civilians question him where the combined Federal forces have had no effect." 

Jim suddenly slapped the table with his hand, hard, making Simon and Kirby's aide jump, but having absolutely no effect on Kirby. "Because it's _my partner_ that's been kidnapped, lady," he ground out, standing and leaning over the table at her. "Because _I_ was the one to put Brackett away in the first place. Because you _owe_ me this, goddammit!" 

"Jim," Simon murmured, pulling on his arm. Jim let himself be soothed and settled back in his chair, but didn't take his eyes off Kirby. 

"You may be a hotshot in the police force here and may have big friends in Langley," Kirby said, her voice pleasant, "but you're not dealing with either the local yokels or No Such Agency now, Detective. I'd advise you to keep that famous temper of yours in check." 

Jim clenched his fists under the table and tried to breathe deeply. He could almost hear Sandburg coaching him -- 'breathe, Jim, just breathe; don't let her get to you'. She wanted to get a rise out of him -- well, she got one. But that was the only one she was going to get. 

To his surprise, Simon spoke up on his behalf. "And I'd advise _you_ , A. D. Kirby, not to cross Detective Ellison, because Ellison speaks for the entire police force. Sandburg is one of us. And if you _ever_ want any cooperation from us again, you'd best watch your own temper." He leaned across the table, his hands clasped before him, and smiled gently at her. "I think I've made myself clear." 

She granted him the point with a small tilt of her head. "Perfectly, Captain. What do you want?" 

"Round trip for four -- myself, Ellison and two officers -- to Leavenworth, and a private conference with Brackett." 

"For four?" she asked, frowning. 

Simon shrugged. "It's obvious to me that Ellison is the one they were really after; I have no intention of leaving his security open to any agency other than the Cascade Police Department." 

"You realize, a private conference would be out of the question." 

"It had better not be," Simon disagreed mildly. 

Her eyes snapped at the two of them. "I'll see what I can do. Good day, gentlemen." 

* * *

"What's happening?" Simon asked quietly, watching Jim. Jim had his head cocked and was listening intently. 

"She's taking it out on her aide," Jim finally said, smirking. "That is one pissed-off lady, Simon. I don't think I recognize more than half the words she's using." 

"Heh heh heh." Simon chuckled as he walked back to his desk and picked up the cigar left on his blotter. "So are you willing to concede the point, Detective?" 

Jim rolled his eyes. "All right, all right, head-on was the best way to go," he said, sighing. "Marty, you can come on in now. But I still don't want them going with us to Leavenworth." 

" _I_ still dinna ken why you are so keen to leave us here, Jamie," Marty said as she opened the door. "You know that two of us would be better than one." 

Jim paced to the windows, turned, then leaned against the sill with a sigh. "Look. Brackett -- he's a snake in the grass, all right? The man was willing to turn the entire city of Cascade -- and most of the Pacific Northwest, for that matter -- into melted flesh in order to steal an airplane." He looked from Jane's horrified face to Marty's frowning one. "He's amoral. Completely and utterly without a conscience. Why would I want to subject anyone else to that depraved mind?" 

"And how is this different from some of the rotten bastards that Marty's been tracking down in Scotland?" Jane said abruptly, heatedly. "She _is_ a police officer, you know, not some poncey little bird to be protected!" 

"Janey," Marty said, a smile quirking her lips. 

"Humph. Now I suppose you're going to take me to task for standing up for you," Jane said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at her cousin. 

"No, I was going to say how shocked I am that you called me 'poncey'," Marty said, then when Jane goggled at her, she embraced her tightly. "You can stand up for me any time you like, lass," she said, laughing. 

"It's the Sandburg effect," Jim muttered, looking at his shoes. "He does the same thing." 

Both Jane and Marty sighed at that, and Marty reached out to grab Jim's arm. "We're going with you for the same reason he would, Jamie," she said softly. "To protect you. We'll be fine." 

"That is assuming we're going at all," Simon said sourly. 

* * *

When four round-trip tickets to Kansas City, Missouri arrived by courier at five o'clock, they all knew that they were going. The plane left at six a.m. the next day -- Friday -- which, from her muttered comments, Jane apparently figured was A.D. Kirby's way of getting back at them. Marty kept her laughter inside -- her cousin was definitely not a morning person. Well, for that matter, neither was she at the moment -- she was still suffering from jet lag. 

Jim had had a rough night too and wasn't very awake in the morning. He insisted Jane and Marty take the big bed upstairs while he took the futon, and Rafe stayed overnight sleeping on one of the camp cots. But Marty heard Jim up half the night, pacing like a caged animal, and her heart bled for him. She had seen how close Jim and Blair were, knew from their letters and emails what they meant to each other, and knew too, from having her beloved cousin as a Guide, what it meant for Jim to lose Blair. 

It was a surly bunch that boarded the plane at Cascade International, but being in a bad mood just meant they all kept quiet and stayed to themselves. The flight was just over three hours and bumpy; and it was another hour from the airport to the "Big House" in Leavenworth, in the van that was waiting for them at the terminal. Marty caught Simon chuckling as he settled in the van, and she couldn't resist asking why. 

"It tickles me that the Feds are picking up the dime on this," he admitted to her sheepishly. "I just wish I could get them to pick up more things that they should." 

Just before noon they pulled up outside the Federal Penitentiary, a large, rather hideous building that apparently dated back to the Jurassic. It took close to another hour for their paperwork to be processed, but, finally, they were led to a heavily guarded room which contained one table and five chairs. A few minutes later, Brackett was brought in. 

Marty wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it was hardly this emaciated, bent man wearing shackles and a stained blue sweat suit. Hair that was probably light brown was greasy and badly cut, he had bags under his eyes and bruises on his face and arms, from what she could see under the long sleeves and shackles. She heard Jim inhale sharply as he took in Brackett's appearance and realized that the man must have significantly changed during his time in prison. 

When Brackett looked up and spotted Ellison, he froze for a moment, and his dull gray eyes suddenly took on a little sparkle. Then he stumbled as the guard behind him pushed him forward, directing him to a seat on one side of the table. Making sure Brackett was seated, the other guard turned to them. "You have one hour," he said, then turned and left, locking the door behind him. 

Simon had elected to stand and did so in one corner of the small, square room. Marty and Jane sat in chairs against the far wall, and Jim took one of the two chairs on the other side of the table, turned it and straddled it, then studied Brackett. 

Brackett studied him back. "Why, Jim Ellison, as I live and breathe," Brackett finally murmured. "What a lovely surprise. Had I known you were coming I would have changed the sheets." 

Marty could hear Jim's jaw clench and his teeth grind, but there was no other sign that Ellison was affected by what Brackett said. He continued to sit, thoughtfully examining the prisoner, who finally swallowed. "I take it this isn't purely a social call, then?" 

"You know why we're here, Brackett," Jim said, breaking his silence. To Marty's surprise, his voice was soft and controlled. 

"Do I?" Brackett asked. "Well, let me see. You haven't visited in all the years I've been stuck in this hellhole, you haven't written, haven't called -- what's a poor mother to think? I was hoping you'd visit out of the kindness of your heart. Oh, wait --" Brackett smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. "-- that's right, you don't have one. Sandburg keeps it. I forgot. Where _is_ your little buddy, Ellison?" 

Marty reached out and put one hand on Jim's shoulder. She could feel the tension radiating off him and knew he was close to the edge. "It won't help if you kill him before we get the information, Jamie," she said, so softly she knew only Jim would pick it up. The muscles under her hand relaxed marginally, and she sat back. 

Brackett had followed the exchange, his eyes like a hawk's. He examined Marty carefully, and she found she had to struggle to remain calm under that gaze. Then he shifted to Jane, and suddenly it was Marty who had to fight an instinctive urge to leap the table and throttle Brackett. 

Glancing at Jane, she was brought up short by the expression on her cousin's face. Jane had that utterly fascinated look that she usually reserved for special situations and her favorite type of puzzle. It made Marty uneasy for some reason. 

"Give it up, Brackett," Jim suddenly said, wrenching the other man's attention back to him. "I know you know about Sandburg and the amulet and Gnosovelich. You're the only man who might know what he's up to, so we need to know what you know." 

"Ah," Brackett said, leaning back in his chair. It was hard to look smug while wearing chains, but somehow, he managed. "So. The great Jim Ellison needs my help. What's in it for me?" 

"How about I let you continue to live?" Ellison replied softly, but Brackett merely chuckled. 

"I've been inside for over three years, Ellison. You think you can possibly do to me anything that hasn't already been done?" He looked genuinely amused, but there was a hint of something -- pain, maybe -- in his eyes. "You're going to have to come up with better incentive than that." 

It was Jane who suddenly spoke up, surprising them all. "Tell him, Jim," she said, not taking her eyes from the convict. "Tell him what happened." 

Jim turned and stared at her. She tore her eyes away from Brackett to meet his gaze and nodded. "Go on," she encouraged him. 

Frowning, shaking his head, Jim turned back to Brackett with a sigh. "All right, then. Gnosovelich tried to kidnap me but got Blair instead. We think he's got two pieces of the amulet, and he's after the other two." 

" _Two_ pieces?" Brackett said, suddenly intent. 

"Yeah, one from a collector in New York and one that Krycek stole from the Cascade Museum last year," Jim replied cautiously. 

"He's got _Krycek's_?" Brackett blinked. "How...?" 

"Krycek's dead, Brackett," Jim said, leaning forward. 

Marty -- and Jim, no doubt -- could tell that this information floored Brackett, though he showed very little outward sign of it. "I don't believe that," he finally said, licking his lips nervously and looking away from them. 

"It's true, we've had confirmation," Ellison said, cocking his head. "What were you doing hanging out with Fibbies, Brackett? You two members of a bottom-feeder's club or something?" 

Brackett worked hard to control himself and, after a moment, looked up at Ellison. His eyes were even more haunted than before. "No, one of us had to be on top, Ellison. I'm sure you know how that is." There was not a single note of teasing or sarcasm in his voice, and his heart was still hammering. 

There was something here that lay just out of Marty's reach. She looked at the two men -- Brackett's flushed face and Jim's in profile -- and tried to figure out what was happening. She felt as if she had missed a turn and, suddenly, the whole situation had become a dangerously bizarre kind of game. 

Simon spoke abruptly from his corner of the room. "What's it going to take, Brackett?" Both Jim and Brackett turned to him, and Brackett visibly calmed. "You know we need your help, so what's it going to take?" 

Brackett swallowed again and put his manacled hands on the table in front of him. "Well, let's see if I've got this straight. My good friend Teddy tried to get Ellison here and got his -- what's the PC term again? Oh, yeah -- _partner_ , instead. He's got two pieces and wants the other two, and he knows how to get them." Brackett looked at Jim and grinned slyly. "Yeah, he knows how to get them." 

Jim's eyes widened and his breath stuttered. "You -- you goddamned son of a bitch --" he growled, and Brackett laughed. 

"You're really going to have to get a new groove, Ellison," he said, leaning back in his chair. "The caveman routine is growing mighty thin." He leaned forward again and his look grew intent. "It's a _game_ , Ellison. A game. Teddy plays it well -- but I play it better. I can help you get him. But I've got conditions." 

"What do we look like, Brackett -- Feds?" Simon's voice was disgusted. "We can't fill any of your so-called _conditions_." 

"No, but a man named Hamilton can," Brackett replied casually. "He's been after me for at least a week now. Hell, he's probably listening in on our conversation right now." Jane glanced at Marty, and Marty shook her head slightly. "Get him in here. I'll play. If my rules are the ones we follow." 

* * *

Simon pounded on the door and it opened immediately to show the guards who had escorted Brackett. He stepped outside and had a hushed conversation with them, and one left, leaving the other to re-lock the door. During this interaction, Jim sat quietly, thinking. 

It had been less than five days since Blair had disappeared. 

Something had apparently happened to Brackett in prison, but Jim found he really could not care less. 

Less than five days. And Jim was beginning to feel like a hamster on a wheel. 

Could Brackett really help them find Blair? Would he? 

Jim looked up from his musings to find Brackett's eyes trained on him. They were somehow knowing, somehow aware of his thoughts. Brackett said it was a game -- well, it might be a game to him, but it was hardly a game to Jim. 

Hardly a game at all. 

* * *

Hamilton showed with gratifying speed. He might not have been listening to the conversation, but he was obviously aware of it and ready for intervention. He was a tall, skinny man with a pockmarked face, a shock of red hair-- graying at the temples -- and piercing green eyes. On his arrival in the room, he completely ignored Simon, Brackett and the two women, and spoke to Ellison. 

"We've heard from Gnosovelich," he said, in lieu of a greeting. "He's demanding we turn you over to him for your partner." 

"What?!" Jim leapt to his feet and moved towards Hamilton, his hands clenched at his side. "When?" 

"Late yesterday. We're hoping to hear from him again soon." Hamilton's eyes narrowed as he took in Ellison's demeanor. 

"And you didn't see fit to tell us this?" This was from Simon who was as much in Hamilton's face as Jim was. 

"We knew you were on your way out here," Hamilton shrugged. "You know now. What do you have from him?" he asked, cocking his head towards Brackett. 

Jim was obviously seething and, with a look, Marty encouraged Jane to go to him. Jane did so, touching his arm, hoping to soothe him. Jim jumped when she touched him, but turned to look at her and took a deep breath. He backed down and went back to his chair to sit. "Why don't _you_ ask him?" he snarled. Jane went back to her seat, and Marty took her hand for a moment, squeezing it. 

Hamilton was obviously not happy with that response, but finally turned towards Brackett, who was grinning. 

"Such a display of testosterone!" Brackett laughed. "Haven't seen the like since... oh, last night in the showers. Hello, Ham, ol' chum. How are you today?" 

"Can it, Brackett," Hamilton said. "You've been giving me squat for the last week. If you've got anything germane to say, say it now." 

"Well, certain information that Ellison and his pals here have given me -- which you saw fit to withhold, I might add, and it breaks my heart that you did -- has given me incentive to play with you boys. No insult intended," he added, smiling at Marty and Jane. 

" _What_ do you _want_ , Brackett?" Hamilton asked again, taking a deep breath. 

"I'll help you get Gnosovelich," Brackett said, leaning back in his chair and looking up at Hamilton with a grin. "On two conditions." 

"What." 

"I can't do it from in here. I want to be released into Ellison's custody for the duration, and I want my sentence reduced." 

"No." Hamilton's voice was firm. 

"Then I don't play, and you don't get Teddy." Brackett looked from Jim to Simon and shrugged, as if to say, it's out of my hands. "Shame about Sandburg." 

"You fucking bastard..." Jim growled, but Brackett cut him off. 

"It's not my call, Jimbo." Brackett's voice was harsh for once. "You tell Hamilton to play with me, and I'll play with you. Because you _won't_ find Teddy without me. Not even you can do that, Ellison." Brackett held the upper hand in this, and he knew it. No longer did he look like the ragged, on-the-edge, lost soul; instead, Marty found herself almost admiring the man for his balls. 

"It's not negotiable, Brackett," Hamilton said firmly. "You were sentenced to life. You'll come up for parole in about thirty-five years, give or take. And we don't allow convicted felons to take vacations." 

"Take it or leave it, Ham. And if I were you, I'd take it. You won't get a better offer from Ellison here, who looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel." 

"Hamilton," Simon barked, and the Fed turned toward him, frowning. "I don't like it either, because I trust that -- that piece of pond scum about as far as I can fling a piano." 

"Captain, you _wound_ me," Brackett said, still grinning. 

Simon didn't even spare him a grimace. "But I'll tell you this, Hamilton. Sandburg is my man and Ellison's partner. If Brackett can get him back from Gnosovelich, then come hell or high water, he's getting what he wants." 

"Banks, I don't care if your man is Jesus Christ himself. It's not happening." 

"Oh, yes, it is," Simon ground out, pushing himself into Hamilton's space. "One way or the other. Don't cross me, Hamilton. We can either work together on this or I can make your life a living hell. The next time one of your goddamned Fibbies needs PD help you can tell them to go looking for it up _your_ ass, nowhere else. And I doubt your boss would appreciate that." 

Hamilton's face turned an interesting shade of purple -- one that really clashed with his hair -- as he looked between Banks, Brackett and Ellison. Marty couldn't see Jim's face, but whatever was in his eyes must have really had an impact on Hamilton, because right after he looked at Jim, he whirled and marched to the door. He banged on it once, then turned back to the room. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." 

"Wouldn't dream of it, old boy," Brackett said, waving gaily. 

* * *

It was a long, hard, hungry day. Jim and Simon apparently were operating on pure adrenaline, but Marty and Jane -- told beforehand to keep as quiet as possible, so as not to blow their cover -- had no such help. By two-thirty, when Hamilton had Brackett taken back to his cell and instructed them to not go far away, they were starving. 

A sympathetic clerk in the front office directed them to a nearby diner that catered to the administrative crowd at the Big House, and Marty and Jane directed a nearly oblivious Jim and Simon there. The two men were engaged in a battle of words -- soft words, harsh words. Jim was boiling, trying to get his head around the fact that an avowed enemy held his partner's life in his hands, and Simon was doing his best to get Jim to calm down and face reason. The two women just steered them to a booth in the back of the diner and ordered salad and burgers all around, hoping the smell of food would distract the men from their preoccupation. 

It had something of the desired effect. When his salad was placed before him, Jim stopped in mid-sentence and looked up. "What the hell?" he asked. 

Jane shook her head. "Food, Jim. Food. You put it in your mouth and chew, then swallow. Like this." She picked up her fork and shoveled a big piece of tomato into her mouth. "It's good. You should try it." 

Both Simon and Jim sighed, and Simon gave Jane a weak smile. "It does look good," he said. "I can't believe I didn't even notice what you two were doing." 

"It's been a harsh day, sir. It looks to only get worse, as well," Marty said softly. "We need to keep up our strength." 

Jim responded by picking up his fork and beginning to eat. He kept his eyes on his plate, though, and wouldn't look up. 

"D'you think that Hamilton will roll over?" Marty asked Simon, who sighed. 

"I don't know," he said. "We need Brackett. I hope Hamilton's got someone above him with a lick of sense. Otherwise... well, we're screwed." 

Jim put his fork down and rested his head in his hands. Jane reached across the table and touched his arm. "It'll be all right," she whispered. 

They finished their food quickly and headed back to the prison, hoping to find that a decision was made. They were instructed to go to a conference room, and a clerk led the way. Hamilton was waiting for them. He didn't look happy, but that didn't surprise any of them. 

"I am not a happy camper here, people," he opened, and Marty had to look down. She knew if she looked at Jane she'd start laughing. Perhaps this was how diabetics felt when their blood sugar was too low. "Brackett is a convicted felon. I don't like the idea of him running around loose again." 

"And you think _we_ do?" Simon asked heatedly. "I don't like it any more than you do, Hamilton. But he's the key to getting Sandburg _and_ Gnosovelich. We want Sandburg, you want Gnosovelich. I think it just might be worth it." 

Hamilton stared hard at Simon. "And for the record, I don't like being threatened. By anyone." He and Simon locked gazes for a long moment, the visual equivalent of a handshake strength test. To Marty's surprise, Hamilton broke it first. "However, my superiors at the Justice Department have ruled that -- for now -- Brackett's _requests_ will be granted. However, he will not be remanded into Ellison's custody. The FBI's A.D. in Cascade, Ellie Kirby, will have custody, and _that_ is non-negotiable." 

"Why are you telling us, then?" Jim asked quietly. "Where's Brackett?" 

"He's still insisting that he be released to you, Ellison," Hamilton said sourly. "He's agreed to a conditional reduction of his sentence -- depending on the outcome of this case -- but not the other. Unless you can convince him to take our offer, we are back to square one." 

Jim clenched his jaw. "All right. Let me see him." 

* * *

It took every ounce of will-power Jim had to follow the guard back into the bowels of the prison. He had his hearing turned down almost as far as it could go, but he still could pick up the distressing sounds he remembered from his time in Starkeville -- magnified a hundred times in this dismal forest of iron and steel. The guard led him to one of the thousands of cells and banged on the door with his baton. 

After a moment, Brackett's face appeared in the small, barred window of the door. "Well, hello there, Jimbo. Slumming?" 

"Take the offer, Brackett," Jim said tightly. 

Brackett clucked at him. "But, Jimmy. I was so looking forward to working directly _under_ you. I don't even know who this Kirby person is." 

Jim slammed his hands up against the iron door and threw his face right up against Brackett's. "Take the fucking offer, you piss-poor excuse for a human being," he snarled, aware of but ignoring the fact that the guard was speaking and trying to pry him away from the door. "You want a piece of me, fine. I want a piece of you too. But this is the only way we're going to come close enough to get what we want. Take. The. Offer." 

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Jim let the guard drag him back without breaking eye-contact with Brackett. "All right," Brackett finally said, quietly. "All right." As Jim turned to go, he added, very, very softly, "You're mine, Ellison." 

Jim paused and turned back, giving Brackett his best feral smile. "Come and get me, Brackett," he said. 

* * *

It was a long way back to Cascade. 

Jim had a pounding headache and a sour feeling in his stomach, but he didn't let on to Jane, knowing she would only worry. Instead, he sat quietly near the window -- first in the van and later in the plane -- and let himself partially zone on the passing scenery. 

Brackett would be transported to Cascade the next day. They'd had a conference call with Kirby, who had made clear her displeasure over the situation but who would, Jim was certain, suck it up and deal. In his brief contact with her, he saw in her the same kind of obsession he carried himself -- if there was a way to solve the problem, any way at all, she would take it. 

What bothered him, however, was the fact that finding Sandburg was not her top priority. From the bio he had read on Gnosovelich, Jim realized that the man had to be heading many, many 'most wanted' lists, and Kirby had to want him bad. Did she want him badly enough to sacrifice Blair? Jim couldn't be sure, and that made him crazy. 

By the time they all made it back to the loft, it was approaching midnight and they were all ready to collapse. Simon stayed long enough to ensure the guard was still there on the loft, then left for home. Jim once again pushed for Marty and Jane to take the big bed, saying he was too tired to change the sheets anyway, and the futon was enough for him. They gave him no grief over it, and that's how he knew how tired they were. It had to be rough on them, to be jet lagged and yet dragged all over creation and still expected to work. 

He slipped on a pair of sweatpants and crawled into bed shortly after everyone else, but either his own brain or Brown's snoring on the camp cot next to him kept him awake. He finally rose and after pacing quietly, found himself standing at his usual spot by the windows, watching the rain sluice down and allowing his mind and senses to drift. Where was Blair? Was he all right? Gnosovelich's bio terrified him; the man was beyond a monster, he made Brackett almost look like an Eagle scout. There was an ache in Jim's belly that only the presence of his Guide and lover could fill, and he wasn't sure he could live with it. 

A step behind him made him turn to see Marty coming down the stairs, pulling her robe on. "I woke you," he whispered, barely speaking aloud. 

She shook her head and smiled. "No," she replied, almost sub-vocally, "I was having problems sleeping anyway. Jane is a bed hog." 

Jim called up a smile from somewhere and turned back to the window. "I could make tea," Marty began, but Jim quickly shook his head. 

"Not on my account," he said. It was eerie, to speak to another Sentinel like this, to have a conversation that no one else could possibly hear. Eerie and kind of nice. "I'm afraid..." he began, then stopped. That was probably enough, actually. 

"I know." Marty rubbed his arm soothingly. "I am too. This bugger isn't very nice, is he?" Jim shook his head and looked down at his bare feet, while Marty continued. "Once Brackett arrives, I have a feeling things might start moving very quickly." 

"Yeah, me too," Jim sighed. "Marty... the amulet..." 

"It's a very clever hiding place, Jamie," she said with a smile, and he gave her a genuine smile back. He _knew_ it would only be evident to another sentinel. "I can guess what you're about to say, and I will," she continued. "But let's not give up all our options yet, shall we?" 

Jim took a breath to speak -- then stopped, frowning. When he did finally speak, it was different words that he had originally intended. "You know... we have other options as well." 

Marty looked at him curiously, nodding for him to continue. "One of those is that... well, even though Gnosovelich apparently knows about me... he doesn't know about _you_." 

She frowned at him for several moments before slowly beginning to smile. It wasn't a very nice smile, either. 

* * *

Saturdays at Major Crime weren't usually quite this busy, Simon reflected, although there had been the occasional time when a 24/7 week was normal. And this was shaping up into one... with the Feds and the Spooks and flunkies from the Justice Department and Federal Marshals... God. 

The day didn't start out well, either, with Kirby and Ellison in a shouting match. Although he broke it up and made Jim sit down and relax, Simon couldn't find it in his heart to discipline the man. Kirby was throwing her weight around -- for all she couldn't be more than 100 pounds soaking wet -- and it drove Simon as crazy as it drove Ellison. Without Blair around as a buffer... 

Simon let that thought drift away. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on that subject. 

Brackett was 'delivered' early on and watched the show around him with something approaching glee. The posturing between departments meant that by the time anyone sat down with him to get his story, it was past lunch time, although food was far from anyone's mind. 

The biggest problem was that damned amulet. Kirby couldn't seem to believe that Gnosovelich was merely after a chunk of gold and not something more nefarious. 

"Trust me, Ellie," Brackett told her, smirking -- he learned quickly that it drove her crazy when he used her first name -- "that chunk of gold is worth its weight in -- well, gold -- to our boy Teddy. He's got two pieces, apparently, and he wants the last two." 

"But that's ridiculous," Kirby fumed. "He'd risk his entire operation for that? Why?" 

Brackett shrugged, but his eyes never left Ellison's. "Who knows? He's a psychopath. I wouldn't even pretend to understand someone who's as obsessed as all that." Simon watched as Jim clenched his hands into fists. "He's probably using a plan that he and I worked out years ago or something close to it," Brackett continued. "We'd talked about the amulet, about how to find the rest of it, and that's why he wants Ellison." 

Kirby smacked the table with her fist. "Why does it always come back to you, Ellison?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous. "There's something you aren't telling me." 

"Oh, I doubt that, Ellie," Brackett interjected smoothly. For once, Simon noted, he lost the mocking humor in his eyes. "Ellison here is just really, really good at what he does. I mean, look how he helped me when I crept in right under the Agency's radar and very nearly got that plane? By the way, has Congress ever approved the budget for that?" 

When glares were his only reply, he raised his manacled hands in protest. "Hey, just wondering, you know? Although I guess I can't say 'my tax dollars at work' any more, can I?" 

"Tell us about this plan, Brackett," Simon said, since no one else seemed willing to deal with the guy. 

Brackett smiled. "Well, then. Let's see what I recall." Brackett began talking, and he kept talking. It seemed he was only waiting for an opening before spilling, and once he began, no one could get him to shut up. 

Gnosovelich was in Cascade, of that he was certain. "He probably wasn't, though, until recently," Brackett affirmed. "He uses hired muscle a lot. He's got a lot more trust in people than I do, really." There wasn't any comment about that, something Simon was grateful for. Brackett's other claim -- that they'd hear from Gnosovelich again at any moment -- was borne out when a small package arrived for Ellison by courier. 

It was way too small for a bomb, although Kirby wanted to treat it as such. But Simon knew, from the expression on Jim's face, that it was something far more sinister. He pushed Jim down to a seat at his conference table and took the package from him, opening it carefully while wearing gloves. Inside was a long lock of dark, curly hair and a note: "Next time, it will be something he needs," a time -- six o'clock p.m. PST -- and a Yahoo email address. Simon was very grateful for the presence of Jane and Marty at that point, for he felt nearly as bad as Jim obviously did and wouldn't have been able to help him out of a zone. Ellison's face was dead white. Kirby began cussing. 

The courier company was, of course, a dead end. Forensics went over the package carefully, but all they could say was it was definitely human hair. Sandburg's DNA was on file -- from numerous injuries -- but it would take several hours to do a match. They didn't have several hours -- they had three. 

With help from Jane, Ellison pulled himself together and stood, turning without a word toward his desk in the bullpen. While Kirby began haranguing Brackett for more information, Simon watched as Jim sat at his desk and fired up his computer. He knew in his gut what was going to happen but tried to deny it -- after all, Marty and Jane were with him. They wouldn't let him get into any trouble. Wouldn't let him do anything stupid. 

But the next time Simon turned to ask Jim something, about an hour later, he found Jim -- and Marty and Jane -- gone. 

* * *

Even though Marty had been ready for it, she still found it rather distressing when Simon burst into the loft in full scream. "Okay, where is that son of a bitch?!" he yelled as soon as Jane opened the door. 

Marty continued screwing the false grill into the kitchen column as she replied. "You know where he is. Is Kirby on your tail?" 

Simon blinked. "Yeah..." he said slowly, his ire visibly reducing in the face of her calm. "She'll be here any minute." 

"Good. I need to be here for a wee bit longer then." She finished screwing in the second of four screws and held her hand out to Jane for the third. 

"That's where it was," Simon said, coming around the pillar to look up at her. "He took it _with_ him?" 

"What do you think?" Jane asked, acerbically. She handed the next screw to Marty as the door burst open again. 

"Where's Ellison?" Kirby demanded, as she walked in flanked by her aide, the two U.S. Marshals, Brackett and half of Major Crime. A veritable parade of law enforcement. 

"He's gone," Marty repeated calmly, reaching for the last screw. "He got his marching orders and left half an hour ago." 

"Banks, he's _your_ man, what do you have to say for him?" Kirby rounded on Simon angrily, looking for all the world like a Chihuahua attacking a pit bull. 

"I say he wanted to protect his partner, Kirby," Simon said, his voice soft and dangerous. "And he didn't trust anybody else _here_ to do it!" 

"If he fucks up my investigation, Banks, it's not only pieces of his partner that will be missing. Do I make myself clear?" 

"Lady, I've had about as much of you as I can tolerate," Simon ground out. "I'll make you a deal. You stay out of _our_ way, and we'll stay out of _yours_." He looked over at Brackett, who was carefully watching Marty climb down from her stepladder. "And if you're not going to use him, then leave him here too. Maybe we can actually get some work done." 

"In your dreams, Banks," she said, her voice acid. "You will keep me informed, do you hear me? I want to know what Ellison does. I want to know where he goes. And I _want_ Gnosovelich!" Without waiting for a reply, she swept out of the loft, her entourage in tow. She left the detectives from Major Crime who had followed her -- Rafe, Megan, Joel and Brown -- and Marty and Jane. As soon as the door slammed behind her, Simon rounded on Marty. 

"All right, she saw you, and so did Brackett. What's the deal here?" 

Marty cocked her head to one side and listened carefully before replying. She felt Jane's soothing touch on her arm, grounding her, and absently she patted her cousin's hand. When she was certain there were no surprises anywhere, she turned to Banks and smiled. "Jamie and I have a plan. And it wasn't only Gnosovelich he got mail from, Cap'n. Jack Kelso sent something as well." 

Simon was nodding, and his face was thunderous. "Kirby's got a mole." It wasn't a question, she noticed. 

"Aye. But there's one thing that none of them expect, and that's me." She looked around at the gathered detectives. "I can track Jamie. We can find him, and Blair too. But we need to do it now, and we need to do it on the sly. Are y'all game?" 

She smiled at their eager faces. 

* * *

Even though Jim had been expecting the knockout gas, it didn't lessen the effect. He woke groggy and with a pain in his head that felt like a hundred jackhammers all going at once. He pushed himself more-or-less upright and cradled his head in his hands for a few minutes, trying to do his deep breathing to gain control of his senses again. Over the stench of the gas, the scents of cedar and almond were almost overpowering to him, so he could tell that smell was still way too high. Once he got that adjusted downwards, the ache in his head began to recede. 

Keeping his eyes closed and his head in his hands, he carefully dialed up hearing. Wherever he was, it was a fairly large space, and it was above ground but not far above. Ground level or second floor. He heard heartbeats, but they were mostly distant and muffled, and there was some kind of white noise generator hooked into the HVAC unit that was hard for him to filter out -- even when he did, though, he still could not discern a heartbeat that was recognizably Blair's. 

He turned hearing back down to just above normal and cracked his eyes open. It was dim in the room but not pitch black. Rubbing his still throbbing head, he looked around. He was sitting on a cot which was covered with a coarse blanket. There was a commode and a sink next to the bed. Opposite them was the only door to the room. Ventilation was provided via a small grill set high in the wall over the door. Lighting appeared to come from inset strips along the baseboard behind the cot; the floor was plain asphalt tile. 

Oddly enough, the wall opposite his cot -- to the left of the door -- did not appear to be made of the same substance as the other three walls. Once he looked at it carefully, he realized it was a half-wall -- the upper portion was smooth, and on examination it looked reflective -- maybe one-way glass? It would seem to make sense -- but perhaps it didn't, since he would be able to see through it regardless, and he was certain that Gnosovelich knew of his abilities. 

He carefully pushed himself to his feet and tottered over to the sink. There was no hot water, but cool water felt fine on his face, and it didn't appear to be tainted with drugs. He used his t-shirt to wipe his hands and face and then turned to examine his prison more carefully. 

"Ah, you're awake," a disembodied voice said. He glanced up and quickly found the concealed speaker -- but where was the camera? Perhaps it was in the other room. Or perhaps that's where Gnosovelich was sitting, observing him. Jim sat back down on the cot and made himself as comfortable as he could. He carefully extended hearing to beyond that odd wall, and thought he might be picking up a heartbeat, but it was difficult to say. The soundproofing between was formidable. 

"What, no anger? No demands to see your partner?" The voice was cultured and smooth -- Gnosovelich's, he would bet. It reminded him of Brackett's voice, actually, and that man's inflection was always difficult to read. He kept calm and quiet and waited. 

"You're good, Ellison," the voice chuckled. "Very good. Well, then, let me play the role you seem to have chosen for me, and let you in on my nefarious plan. By now, you will have noticed the piece of the amulet you brought is gone. I'm having my experts look at it." 

There was a pause, and once again Jim cautiously reached out with his hearing -- ah. There. The voice was not in the next room, it was several doors down from his. Once he had locked onto the voice, he knew he could find it again -- Blair had called it 'tagging' and had trained him in it well. 

"As for your partner, well, as you can see, he's here." Light gradually grew in the next room, confirming Jim initial suspicion that the wall was one-way glass. The room was a mirror image of his own, and lying on the camp bed was Blair. 

Despite himself, Jim leapt to his feet and ran to the window/mirror and pounded on it. "Chief! Blair! Can you hear me?" 

"Well, that got a rise out of you anyway," Gnosovelich said. "Don't worry, your little friend can't hear you, just as you can't hear him. I know all about your abilities, Ellison, and I've countered every one of them." 

Jim ignored him and concentrated instead on Blair. He was asleep, whether normally or not Jim couldn't be sure yet. He was a mess; one eye was swollen shut and he was covered with bruises. His hair was filthy and his clothes were torn -- but he didn't look dangerously injured. Jim felt his hands -- pressed against the odd glass -- form into fists and heard himself snarl, as if from far away. 

"I assure you, he's perfectly fine," Gnosovelich said. "A little worse for wear maybe, but fine. And he'll stay fine -- as long as you cooperate with me." 

Although his first inclination was to spit out an expletive-laced denial, Jim held himself in and continued to refuse to speak. He instead concentrated on Blair, soaking up the first sight of his lover he'd had in a week. Piggy-backing his hearing on his sight, he realized he _could_ hear Blair -- barely. His heart was beating strongly and that reassured Jim no end. 

With the lighting up in Blair's room, Jim could see the camera. It was situated so that both rooms were covered completely and high enough that it couldn't be reached. But every cell had a weakness, and he would find this one. 

Jim listened for and found Gnosovelich's voice in the other part of the building. He was clearly taken aback at Jim's behavior, and that pleased Jim. "I do have other ways of keeping you in line, Ellison," he said, but that warned Jim just enough to have his hearing wrenched down when the screeching feedback hit. 

Slamming his hands over his ears, Jim let himself sag to the floor and fold into a fetal position. Damn, even with his hearing turned down, that _hurt_. But he made sure to play up the effect much more than it was. Even after the noise mercifully stopped, he remained curled up on the floor -- and conveniently out of the view of the camera. But despite the renewed headache, he turned his hearing back up and listened for Gnosovelich's reaction. 

"Watch him carefully," the man was saying. "Sandburg's notes talked about some sort of zone out and I'm sure this caused one. Get me information on his recovery time. Damn, we should have had a camera in his room as well -- I can't see him. No matter. Keep an eye on him." 

Jim smiled and remained where he was. 

* * *

"This is where he was told to be," Marty told Simon, "the pick-up point." 

They were in a convoy of three vehicles, Jane, Marty and Simon in the lead, followed by other members of Major Crime who were also acting as lookouts for the FBI. They parked near the blue and white truck and Marty took the lead. 

"You sure this is going to work, MacLachlan?" Simon growled, and Marty shot him a smile. 

"Easy enough for a bairn," she said. "It amazes me you canna smell it." She followed the nearly overpowering aroma of cedar and almond from Jim's truck off across the deserted parking lot of the out-of-business home improvement store. Jim had parked out in the far end, and the scent trail led her to the other side of the lot. "Here. He was picked up here." 

Simon tugged his pants' legs up and crouched, looking at the dirty tarmac. There were tracks in the old mud, and he pointed them out to Joel, who nodded. "Don't get any closer," Marty warned them. 

"Why not?" Joel asked, confused. 

"The clever lad. He'd put a gob of the paste on his shoe, and he must have found a way to kick the tires of the vehicle, for I can smell it -- heading that way." She indicated with a look, then trotted off, Jane at her side. "Aye, I can track it. Do you need more information on the tracks, or can we just continue?" 

Straightening, Simon brushed his hands together decisively. "No. Let's go." 

* * *

After what he estimated to be about an hour, Jim let himself crawl -- as painfully seeming as possible -- to the commode, where he made retching noises. He flushed and then staggered to the sink where he ran water over his whole head, drank a bit, then pulled off his t-shirt to dry himself. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Blair was still asleep. 

He collapsed on the bed, grateful for the fact that his headache had eased and sent out his hearing for Gnosovelich again. Once he had tagged a sound, it was always easier to find it, and he caught the man in the middle of giving instructions to someone. 

"...that analysis again. I'm going to want blood samples too. We can always knock him out -- although we'll have to be quick. He recovered very fast from the first time." 

He was back in the room down the hall, which Jim inferred to be some sort of command center. He could hear the hum of computers behind the voice and got the impression of a large room. "Ah, you've recovered, I see," Gnosovelich said over the speaker. "Sorry to have to do that, but you did need an object lesson, apparently." 

"What do you want, Gnosovelich?" Jim asked, his voice flat and weary. He turned his head and watched Blair sleep while paying attention to the background noises. 

"So you can speak," Gnosovelich said, his voice light. "You gave me a phony, Ellison. Either you tell me where the original is or you're going to have to live with that screech for a very long time." 

Jim sighed. "That was the one we were given," he said. "We made three copies. You've got all three copies, now you have the original. I pulled it out of --" 

"The phony air-intake duct, yes, yes, I know," Gnosovelich said, his voice becoming impatient, "which was a remarkable place to hide it, by the way. But that doesn't change matters -- my experts say it's still a fake." 

"Then maybe you need better experts!" Jim snapped. "Or maybe we weren't given the original. Blair seemed to think it was the original, and I had no reason to doubt him." _Come on, come on_ , Jim thought to himself. _Take the bait_. 

There was silence over the speaker and in the command room for quite some time. A very slight movement caught Jim's eye, and he sharpened his focus on Blair. Yes... Blair's eyes were open, very slightly, and Jim's hearing caught his heartbeat accelerating. He was waking up. But could he see Jim? 

Hoping the answer to that was yes, Jim pushed himself upright and once again sat on the edge of the cot. He ran his hands over his still-damp hair and massaged his temples as though his head still hurt him. Yes, Blair could see him -- Jim watched as his eyes widened briefly then sagged shut again. He didn't move on the cot, but one hand, which had been dangling off the edge all along, closed into the classic "OK" sign. 

"Perhaps I should ask Mr. Sandburg then," Gnosovelich mused, and Jim's head snapped up. 

He allowed his rage to bleed through as he snarled, "Touch him again and I'll find a way to feed you your own balls, Gnosovelich." 

Laughter answered his words. "You are in no position to make threats, Ellison," Gnosovelich said. "I will do as I like. However, I prefer to get results by the simplest method possible. Mr. Sandburg. Are you awake?" 

Blair shifted on the cot, grimaced and moaned. "Chief! Can you hear me?" Jim was already pressed up against the glass without even realizing he had moved. The moan had issued from the speaker, which meant that Gnosovelich had a way to connect their rooms via his sound system. 

Slowly, painfully, Blair shifted and propped himself up. Jim didn't like how he was holding one arm tightly against his side. "Jim?" he whispered. His left hand, however, was held in that "OK" symbol, so Jim hoped that most of his disability was feigned. 

"Chief. Are you all right? C'mon, tough guy, talk to me." Jim swept over Blair with his senses -- to the best of his ability -- and found no overt injury besides a lot of bruising. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," Blair muttered. "Think I might have some cracked ribs, but I'm okay." Jim could tell he was lying -- and the hand sign told him so too. Bruises, aches and pains -- and one hell of a colorful shiner -- but nothing broken or cracked. 

Jim looked directly into the camera. "You're a dead man, Gnosovelich," he snarled. 

"I am?" the disembodied voice sounded highly amused, but Jim could hear his heart rate pick up slightly. 

"Just wanted you to know. God, Blair, it's good to see you." Jim was plastered against the glass, watching his lover move carefully. 

"I was beginning to give up hope there, man," Blair replied, but his eyes said, _What's your plan?_

"You know how slow on the uptake I am, Chief," Jim replied, not having to hide his relief. "Simon and Marty had to kick me around a bit, but I finally got with the game." Blair's eyes widened when Jim said 'Marty,' but he merely nodded. 

"Yeah, Marty makes up for what Simon lacks," Blair said. "Is Janey okay?" 

"Yeah, she's handling it fine. Ol' grossbuckets here, though, is giving me the run-around." Jim saw Blair's mouth twitch and his eyes began to dance. Yeah, he got it. 

"I hate to break up this tender scene, gentlemen," Gnosovelich said, "but I need some answers." 

Jim rolled his eyes. "I told you, Gnosovelich, it's the original. You've got all three copies and now the original." 

"Shit, Jim, tell me you didn't bring the ring and necklace with you," Blair said, his voice angry but his eyes merry. 

"The hell I didn't," Jim replied. "They got all the copies, and he was threatening to carve pieces off of you if he didn't get the original. What would _you_ have done?" 

"The fact of the matter is," Gnosovelich interrupted, "that the piece you brought is _also_ a fake, Ellison. Now Mr. Sandburg will tell me where the original is." 

Blair looked at Jim, then up at the camera. "Huh? You've got all four, right? The three copies and the original. That's all we had, man." _Give the man an award_ , Jim thought, _his performance almost fools me_. 

"I find that hard to believe, Mr. Sandburg." Was that testiness creeping into Gnosovelich's voice? 

"Believe what you want, and it's _Dr_. Sandburg," Blair retorted. "Tobias gave me the piece over a year ago. We had three copies made by three different artisans. And if this big lunk hadn't removed the original from its hiding place, you would never have found it." Blair stood, slowly, and painfully walked over to the glass across from Jim. "I can't believe you did that, you idiot," he finished softly, resting one hand on the glass opposite Jim's. 

"Refusing wasn't an option, Chief," Jim replied softly. His fingers ached to reach through the glass. 

"My expert avers--" 

"Then your _expert_ is wrong," Blair interrupted Gnosovelich tartly. "I'm an anthropologist with an archeological background. I _can't_ be fooled by a replica. That was the original." Blair never took his eyes from Jim's, conveying without words how he felt. 

"Carbon dating --" 

"Carbon dating on a piece of solid gold will not work," Blair said. He sighed and half turned towards the camera behind him. "You need to test the gold for impurities and for trace element composition. It's Peruvian, dating back pre-European. Check the levels of iridium and manganese. Sheesh, I have to do everything..." 

Jim managed to keep his face straight, but it was a near thing. Blair, facing away from the camera, had no such constraints, though, and his brilliant grin broke through briefly, before he winced in pain and touched the huge bruise on the side of his face. Wincing himself, Jim had to stop his hand from reaching out to touch. Blair picked up on the aborted movement and murmured, "It's okay, man. You should see the other guys." 

Smiling with his eyes, Jim pressed his hand on the glass, wishing he could hold and kiss and comfort. Blair smiled back, then cocked his head slightly towards the speaker, which had been silent since the last thing Blair said. Jim let his hearing dial up in search of that tagged voice and found Gnosovelich haranguing someone in the command center. He was completely occupied, so Jim turned his attention back to Blair and nodded fractionally. 

"Can you hear me, Jim?" Blair whispered, his mouth moving in an exaggerated fashion. "Blink if you can hear me." Jim concentrated and realized he could indeed hear Blair, though his voice was muffled. He tipped his head to one side and blinked slowly. Blair smiled. 

* * *

"Is this the spot, Cap?" Rafe hunkered down by Simon on the construction mound overlooking the technology corridor. It was an older building, now isolated by construction all around it, that was their focus. 

"Yeah, the trail leads here, according to MacLachlan," Simon said quietly. "This is also one of the spots that Brackett identified as Gnosovelich's working labs. I've got Joel checking out ownership right now, and Megan is with Jane and Marty getting a closer 'listen'. We need positive proof that Ellison and Sandburg are in there." 

The building was low and sprawling, with a large, empty parking lot to the south and east of it. There were three vehicles pulled up to the loading dock, and one of them, Marty told Simon, was the car they had been trailing. 

Joel and Brown joined Simon and Rafe. Joel looked pleased. "It's supposed to be completely empty, Simon," he said. "Belongs to a failed industrial and medical research company that went belly up last year. They're still in bankruptcy, according to Ruth over in records, and the building is in dispute. No one should be there." 

"Better and better," Simon murmured, then tensed as he saw the three women working their way back through the maze of construction equipment. "Here they come." 

All three of them were grinning, and Marty was positively triumphant. "It's a ringer. They're both there. And from what I heard, Gnosovelich is there too. We've got them." 

"How many men do you figure, MacLachlan?" Simon asked her. 

Marty frowned and thought hard before answering. "At least a dozen," she said. "Maybe a bit more. I smelled C4 as well." 

"Damn." Simon thought hard, while looking down at the innocuous-looking building. "Okay, we need reinforcements. We know that Kirby's got a mole in her office so we can't trust her..." 

"We _can_ trust _her_ , Cap'n," Marty interrupted. "Jamie and I were agreed on that one. She's clean." 

"Hmm." Simon examined and discarded dozens of options running through his brain before finally making a decision. "Okay. Let's get back to the office. Rafe, you and Brown are here. Do _not_ give yourselves away. Call if there's any change." 

"Yessir," they simultaneously replied. 

* * *

The camera covered very nearly every inch of both rooms, but there was one very big blind spot; behind the half-wall under the glass. Jim pulled his cot over to the glass -- smiling when Blair did the same -- and they sat, hands pressed against opposite sides of the glass. Blair kept up a constant low murmur, doing his best to ground his Sentinel, and Jim simply bathed in the stimulus while he worked on his shoe. 

Before he left, he and Marty had taken an old pair of Jim's Nikes and embedded a long, slender pick in one side. It meant that the shoe was very uncomfortable for Jim to wear, but it was also nearly impossible to find on a cursory search. Trusting Brackett's assertion that Gnosovelich used hired muscle, Jim counted on any search of his person to be completely cursory, and it was. 

Under cover of the wall, with Blair sitting so that he partially obscured Jim from the camera, Jim worked the pick free and put his shoe back on. Blair saw what he was doing and smiled, then glanced at Jim's door. The rooms had not been designed as cells; the doors probably had locked from the inside, but Gnosovelich had the handles switched. The keyhole was plain as day and twice as real -- and, given a chance, Jim could pick it. 

It was the chance that he needed. 

Gnosovelich's voice had faded for a while as he moved into other parts of the building. Jim was fairly certain now that the building was a sprawling, one-story affair, and that Gnosovelich was only using about half of it. He'd been able to pick up other voices -- a good dozen at least -- and had smelled various explosives and gunpowder denoting firearms. The place was heavily defended then. 

He knew that Marty and the troops had to be massing and had probably already found the hideout. Jim was proud of the way he'd managed to get some of the almond-cedar paste from his shoe on to the wheel of the van that picked him up and was fairly certain that Marty wouldn't have had any trouble tailing the scent. If only he could speak to Blair without an audience... 

"All right, gentlemen," Gnosovelich's voice returned to the speaker. "I'm having my expert run the tests you suggest, Mr. -- I mean, _Dr_. -- Sandburg. We'll have confirmation in about two hours. I want you to know, Ellison," he continued, "that if the amulet you've brought me is not the true piece, I will begin carving small pieces out of your partner until I do have the real one." 

"You can't get blood from a stone, Gnosovelich," Jim growled. "If what you took from me is phony, then we never had the real piece in the first place. You've got what we had, if it's not what you want, well, life sucks." 

"It's not as easy as that, Ellison," Gnosovelich said. "There's always the last piece to consider. And for me to retrieve that, I'm sure I'll need someone of your _special talents_." 

"I have no idea where the other pieces are," Jim said angrily, privately noting the words 'last piece.' Gnosovelich definitely had two of them, then. 

"Ah, but I _do_ know where the last piece is, or rather, where it was." The disembodied voice was smug. "And you will find it for me, Ellison. If only to keep your lover -- pardon me! -- your _partner_ whole." 

Suddenly the lights went out completely. Jim heard Blair's exclamation but he kept quiet. "Time for rest, gentlemen. You'll probably need it." 

Though he missed not being able to see his lover, Jim knew how much he could do under the cover of darkness and immediately went to it. 

* * *

"What is the meaning of this, Banks?" Kirby hissed. Simon smiled. 

Assistant Director Kirby had still been at work, of course, in her nearly deserted offices downtown. The marshals and Brackett and her whole team were almost the only ones in the place, and since Major Crime was nominally working with the FBI, it was easy for Simon to get in. Once in, he'd gotten Megan to follow Kirby into the ladies room, then waited for Marty's signal before marching in himself. He left Joel outside to keep anyone else from entering. 

"Kirby, you have a mole," he said without preamble, taking great pleasure in watching her face go from shock to anger. "We've done your work and found Gnosovelich, but we need extra firepower to take him. I'm sure he's counting on the leak in your offices to give him enough advance notice of any move you make to avoid you." 

"That's impossible." 

"No, I'm afraid it's not," Marty said. Kirby looked at her oddly -- it was the first time she had spoken in Kirby's presence, and Simon realized she was just now picking up the fact that Marty wasn't one of Banks's people. 

"A.D. Kirby, I'd like you to meet Inspector Martise MacLachlan, from across the pond. Marty's got some inside information which contradicts you," Simon said, smiling. 

"How do you know?" Kirby asked, her eyes narrowing at Marty. 

"That's privileged," Marty prevaricated, "need to know, I'm afraid. We don't know who it is, but Gnosovelich has someone in your office bought and paid for." 

"And you say you've found his hideout?" Kirby asked Simon, still wary. 

"We've got him nailed, yes," Simon averred. "In an abandoned office building out on the techway. I've got two men out there now, keeping an eye on him." 

"What's he got with him?" 

"At least a dozen men, plus explosives, plus enough firepower to light up the city, I'm sure," Simon replied. " _And_ he has my men. Ellison and Sandburg." 

Kirby was obviously struggling with herself, wanting desperately to be in on the take and yet reluctant to give Simon's people their due. "What do you want from me, then?" she finally asked. "You found him, you take him." She pointed to Marty. "Interpol wants him as badly as we do, I'm sure." 

Not correcting her misconception, Marty replied tartly, "Aye, we want him -- behind bars! Your bars or ours, doesna' matter tae us. Now, d'you want in on this or no?" 

Pacing restlessly within the confines of the small room, Kirby gnawed on her fingernail. "And we don't know who on my team we can trust. Damn. How much manpower can you give me, Banks?" 

Simon smiled and winked at Marty. "I can get my team of four, plus Marty here, plus half a SWAT team. But I don't know if he's bought off anyone else, so I have to be careful too." 

"We can trust the marshals, they were assigned," Kirby mused. "And I can think of four people that I trust absolutely -- not on my present team." She stopped pacing and looked closely at Simon. "It's dark now. Can you get us infrared gear and vests?" 

"I can do that." 

"Okay. I'm in. I'll release my team for the night, keep that scum Brackett and the marshals, and the four I trust. We can meet--" she looked at her watch, "--in an hour?" 

"That's good," Simon said. "Let me give you the location." 

* * *

The lock on the door was pitifully easy to force; it hadn't been designed to withhold a concentrated attempt. Once the door was unlocked, Jim carefully moved back to his cot and secreted the long, slender pick in the blanket before lying back. His hearing opened up again, seeking for the tagged voices. 

He found Blair first, of course. He was still murmuring under his breath, running through a litany of why sitting in the pitch dark sucked, especially when he had no one warm to hold on to -- and maybe do nasty things to. Jim smiled and put his hands behind his head. 

He found Gnosovelich next. It took him a moment to realize that the man was on the phone to someone, but when he did, the conversation began making sense. "Why would she do that? You don't suspect... Very well. No, not until tomorrow. I still have things to do here. Yes, you've been helpful, tovarisch." The mole, then, in Kirby's office. Jim frowned in thought, wondering what it might mean. 

Jim followed Gnosovelich around the building by his voice, trying to form a mental map of the place. There was no sense in trying to escape until he knew exactly where everything was -- and from the sounds of it, there were guards everywhere. He needed to get armed, and he needed to get to Blair. Not necessarily in that order. 

Quite a long time later -- at least an hour, maybe more -- Jim heard Gnosovelich re-enter the command room, having a discussion with someone else. Ah. They were finished with the analysis of the amulet and weren't happy. Wasn't that just too bad. 

The lights came up and Jim winced in the sudden brightness. He sat up and saw that Blair was in lotus on his cot, trying to meditate. They smiled at each other as Gnosovelich's voice came out of the speaker. "Well, gentlemen, I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, but it's now over. I want the real piece, Ellison." 

"I told you, that's the one we were given," Jim said. He glanced at his door and back at Blair, who nodded infinitesimally. 

"Why do I have problems believing you, Detective?" Gnosovelich's voice was thoughtful and hard all at once, and Jim dialed his hearing right down to zero. Even so, the screech hit his nerve endings and hit Blair's too, judging by how Blair slammed his hands over his ears and yelled. Jim copied him and then let his eyes roll up into his head and fell off the cot -- just under the half-glass wall. He kept his hands over his ears but carefully dialed up just slightly, until he was certain that the ringing he heard was actually in his head and not in the room. 

"...DOING?! Are you _nuts_! He could _zone_... he could go _deaf_ with that kind of abuse!" He heard Blair in full bellow and smiled gently, yeah, it was the Sandburg effect, all right, that protective streak a mile wide coming out at the oddest of times. 

Very, very carefully, Jim dialed his hearing up further, tuned out Blair's ranting and listened to Gnosovelich give orders that made his teeth clench. He was sending some of his hired goons to come beat the shit out of Blair -- again -- and Jim had to be very careful to keep up his pretense of helplessness. He continued to listen while boots stamped down the corridor outside his room -- three men, then -- and stopped in front of Blair's. Coiling his body, he waited. 

The door to Blair's room was unlocked, and he heard Blair scramble to stand and heard his protests. One was still in the corridor -- good. He waited until he was positive the other two were in Blair's room before exploding into action. 

He had the door open and was out in the corridor before the third man knew what was happening. One swift spin kick -- connecting to a hard jaw -- and that one bounced off the opposite wall and was out for the count. Not pausing for the guy's weapon, Jim slammed the door open, knocking one of the men in Blair's room forward. Blair, who had been backing up and away from the other man, suddenly bent and lunged forward, butting his head into the second man's stomach. 

Jim grabbed the one he had pushed the door into by the collar and spun him around. The guy pulled up his fist but Jim's was faster. Stunned by the left hook, he was shoved head first into the glass wall, bounced, then slammed into the wall near the door. 

Jim turned fast, but Blair had his man in hand. The head-butt must have stunned the goon, because he was still bent over. Jim watched Blair slam a fast uppercut into the guy's jaw, then knock his head down into the washbasin by using both hands on the back of the guy's neck. They grinned at each other for a split second, then grabbed the guns their assailants had been carrying and dashed out of the room. 

They tossed the guy in the corridor into Blair's room, slammed and locked the door. Although Jim could hear the alarm being given, he paused for a moment, grabbed a surprised Blair and pulled him up tight against his body before kissing him hard and deep. "God, I missed you, babe," he murmured, relishing the feel of his lover in his arms. 

Blair grinned at him. "Same here, man," he said, running his hand down Jim's face. "And I miss the cold pack too... damn, my knuckles hurt!" 

"Let's get out of here, Rambo," Jim laughed, and led him in the direction opposite the running feet. 

* * *

Simon did a quick count in his head: five detectives from Major Crime (counting himself); five FBI agents; two Federal Marshals; seven officers from the SWAT unit (who had been on weekend duty); one Scottish Inspector with one police observer; and a trussed up Federal prison inmate. Well, it wasn't bad for about an hour's notice. 

The SWAT van had enough vests and infrared gear to go around, so they suited up silently before approaching the dark building. Their plan was simple; block all exits, and on signal, enter together and create as much havoc as possible. 

There were three entrances. Simon and Kirby took the loading dock, since that had obviously been the most used. Joel took the main entrance, setting a charge on the door to blow it out -- the explosion would be the signal to go. Kirby's 'trusted people,' along with Rafe and Brown, took the third, a small service entrance that had been easily forced. 

There were four guards stationed around the building, and they were easily taken out by Marty and Simon. Shortly, they waited on the loading dock for the signal to begin going in. Marty, pressed up against Simon, stiffened suddenly, and Simon turned to look at her. 

"Ellison's escaped!" she hissed in Simon's ear, a grin on her face a mile wide. "There's a fair ruckus going on now -- the lad's got exquisite timing." 

Simon thumbed on his walkie-talkie. "Taggert, Brown, do you copy?" he murmured. At their affirmative, he said, "Ellison's gotten out and is creating a distraction. Notify your people." 

Kirby was staring at Marty, and Simon suddenly coughed. "She's got good hearing," he said, ignoring Marty's silent laughter. 

Luckily, before Kirby could say anything, they heard a muffled boom from the other side of the building. Leaping up, Simon led his portion of the team into the building, kicking down the door and instantly firing upon three guards in what must have been the shipping and receiving area. In the distance, they could hear shouts and shots fired, and Simon said a quick prayer that his friends were okay before leading the way deeper into the building. 

* * *

Jim had a pretty good feel for the place from his mental map. He pulled Blair along with him and they almost immediately doubled back, down a different corridor, heading for the command room. Suddenly, a huge boom rocked the place, and both men pushed themselves up against the corridor wall, holding their weapons ready. 

"What was that?" Blair hissed, and Jim held his hand up as he listened. 

After a moment, he smiled down at Blair and squeezed his hand. "The cavalry is here," he whispered. "Come on, I think the command room is down this way." 

At the next cross corridor, Jim and Blair inched up and Jim listened hard. He leaned down to whisper in Blair's ear. "Two guards, twitchy, right in front of the door. Gnosovelich is inside. I don't know if there's another exit but I don't think so." Then he kissed the ear he whispered into, and Blair smacked his chest, grinning. 

"Let's go with plan A then," Blair murmured. "Back me up?" He shoved his weapon into the waistband of his pants. 

"I hate this," Jim whispered, but Blair only kissed him briefly, laughing silently. 

Backing up, Blair got a running start then skidded around the corner. He 'eeep'ed as though just seeing the guards, twisted around and raced back. Instead of haring down the hall, however, he pushed himself flat against the wall with Jim, waiting. 

The hired muscle fell for it, chasing after Blair and encountering one pissed off Sentinel and his equally pissed off Guide. One went flying after Jim tripped him, and the other got kicked in the gut for his trouble. Jim had a short but furious battle with the second man, which ended when he used the man's own momentum against him and slammed him into the wall, face first. "Ouch, that's gotta hurt," he heard Blair murmur, and when he looked around, it was to see him leaning against the wall, one foot on his own, unconscious, opponent. 

"Smart ass," Jim muttered with a grin, then they hurried around the corner. 

There were sounds of fighting coming closer, and Jim wanted in that command center in a big way. He stopped at the door and extended his hearing, but Gnosovelich apparently had turned on some sort of white noise generator in the room since he was getting practically nothing. He could discern at least one heartbeat, but that was it. 

He shook his head and frowned at Blair, who frowned back. "Dial down hearing," Blair muttered, "all the way. I'll go low and you go high." 

"You sure?" Jim mouthed, but Blair nodded emphatically and indicated the entrance. He quickly crossed to the other side of the door and drew his weapon with a grimace while Jim got a hold of his dials and turned them down. Then Blair caught Jim's eye, counted down from three, Jim kicked open the door, and they both dived in. 

It was dim; the room was lit only by the monitors of several computers and TV screens. Both men scanned the room as quickly as possible while heading for cover, which was sparse. An airhorn suddenly sounded, and both Jim and Blair winced, trying to cover their ears while still looking for Gnosovelich. 

"Well, damn; it looks like Brackett's data were incomplete," Jim heard and he whirled. 

Gnosovelich wasn't tall, he was actually only an inch or so taller than Blair. He had dark hair and a fair complexion, and he was carrying a large handgun, which was pointed at Blair, who, it turned out, was crouched right in front of him. "Stand up slowly, Mr. Sandburg, and lower your weapon. You too, Detective." 

Blair did as he was told, but as he rose, he said, "It's _doctor_ , man, when are you gonna get it right?" 

Jim slowly dialed up his hearing again as he, too, rose slowly. "It's over, Gnosovelich," he said. "That noise you hear is about half of Cascade's finest heading this way. I'd take the high road if I were you." 

"Ah, I don't think so, Ellison," Gnosovelich replied. "Every rat has a bolt hole, and I have mine. You two are about to become acquainted with it. Let's go." 

"No." Blair stood still, his back to Gnosovelich, but his voice was firm as he looked significantly at Jim. "We're not going." 

"Oh, yes you are," Gnosovelich said. "I need him, and to control him, I need you. I only need you alive, you know. Missing pieces don't count." 

"I'm not going," Blair repeated. Jim could tell Blair was up to something, so he kept his gun up and pointed at Gnosovelich. One clear shot, that's all he needed... 

"We're wasting time. I can always shoot out your kneecap and have your loverboy carry you. Would you prefer that?" Gnosovelich was clearly losing patience with Blair's intractability. He shifted his weapon to one hand and pointed it down to Blair's left leg, cocking it. 

Blair inhaled sharply and tensed up. "No!" he said sharply, a note of panic in his voice. "No, don't do that... all right, I'll..." 

He turned slightly as he spoke, and suddenly the leg which had been a target swept up, kicking Gnosovelich's hand. The gun went off; the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the floor; Blair dropped; and Jim fired. 

Gnosovelich's shot missed. Jim's didn't. 

Jim leapt across the intervening space and kicked the gun away from the body on the floor. "Goddammit, Chief," he hissed, pulling Blair up with one hand while the other kept his gun trained on Gnosovelich, "Don't _do_ that to me! Are you all right?" 

"Fine, I'm fine, quit that," Blair said, pushing Jim's roaming hands away from his body. "Fuck. Did you kill him?" 

"Yes, I killed him!" Jim replied sharply. "He was going to kill you!" 

"No, he was going to shoot my kneecap out, but let's not split hairs," Blair said, his voice wry. "Well, it was probably for the best. We couldn't count on him not to spill about you." 

Jim turned incredulous eyes on Blair. "When did you become so damn bloodthirsty?" he asked, wrapping one arm around Blair's middle. 

"About the time I started realizing what I had to do to protect you," Blair replied acerbically, "as your partner. Don't worry, I'll have a panic attack later, when we're home and safe." 

"Well, it's nice to know _some_ things don't change," Jim muttered as the door flew open to show Simon's and Kirby's astonished faces. 

* * *

Mop up was relatively easy. Most of the hired muscle were dead, the rest in custody. Kirby had some pointed questions for Marty; how she could track Jim through Cascade and how she knew that Jim was loose inside the building. It drove her crazy that Marty wouldn't spill, but only cited 'need to know' and 'state secrets'. "We need a few things over you Yanks, you know," Marty told her mysteriously. Jim almost lost it when he heard that. 

Blair was checked out by the EMTs and pronounced fine -- bruised and battered, and a bit dehydrated, but cleared to go home. He was also overjoyed to see Marty, and immediately rushed out with her to get Jane from the car where she had waited out the attack with Brackett. 

Kirby was satisfied with Gnosovelich's body; and furthermore, was pleased to discover a cell phone in the man's possession. In the memory of the phone was the home phone number of her aide, which made her eyes light with unholy glee. 

After participating in a thorough search of the building and finding what he needed to find, Jim finally made his way out of the building to the far end of the parking lot, where he heard Blair talking with Jane and Marty. Blair's tone sounded serious, so he listened in as he jogged to them. 

"Jane, are you _nuts_? The guy's a psychopath!" Blair was saying, and Marty was agreeing with him. 

"Look, I'd say I'm a pretty good judge of character, and he's _not_ ," Jane replied heatedly. "I've just spent the last hour with him, and he's a very interesting person." 

"Well, so was Jeffrey Dahmer, I'm sure!" Blair replied, just as heatedly. 

Jim stopped dead, not at all willing to get involved in this discussion. If Jane found Brackett to be a 'very interesting person'... 

Instead, Jim walked over to the vehicle where he could see Brackett sitting in the backseat. The man was manacled to a ring imbedded in the floor of the car, but still managed to look at ease. "Well, Jimbo. Fancy meeting you here." 

"Oh, put a sock in it, Brackett," Jim replied wearily. "What did you do to Janey?" 

"Nothing, I swear," Brackett replied, grinning. "We just -- talked." 

"Uh-huh." 

"Is Gnosovelich dead?" Brackett suddenly asked, leaning forward. There was gleam in his eye. 

"Yeah." 

"You killed him, didn't you," Brackett said, his mouth a grim line. 

"Yeah," Jim repeated, looking curiously at the man. 

"Goddammit, Ellison, I didn't want to owe you," Brackett muttered, slumping against his seat. 

Ah, Jim thought. Not about to pass up this opportunity, no matter how undeserved, Jim merely smiled. "Well, I guess it's too late for that, Brackett. But at least you'll get your reduced sentence now. Maybe only twenty years instead of thirty-five." 

"Less than that, Detective, less than that," Brackett replied, the sour look still on his face. From behind him, Jim heard the Federal Marshals approaching, and he gladly stood away from the vehicle to let them take back custody of their prisoner. As one slid into the back with Brackett, the other sat in front and started the car. Before the doors closed, however, Brackett waved. "See you soon, Jimbo," he said, his eyes very cold and very hard. 

* * *

"So, the piece you took to him _was_ a fake," Simon said. They had all proceeded to the loft finally, in the hopes of maybe getting some sleep before daybreak. Blair was very distressed at the magnitude of the disaster. After a much-needed shower, he clung to Jim's side like a leech. Not that Jim was complaining. 

"Yeah, we had four copies made," Jim confirmed. "I got all four copies back too. They're going to be hidden again." 

"So where's the original?" Simon demanded, scratching his head. 

Jim glanced at Marty, who smirked. "State secret, sir," he replied, and both Marty and Blair burst out laughing. 

"Whatever," Simon replied, rolling his eyes. 

Megan spoke up. "Marty, Jane, come home with me. I've got a queen size sofa bed that's not too bad, and it beats the futon and a camp cot." 

"That'd be lovely, Meg, thank you," Marty replied, after confirming it with Jane. "But we'll come back early in the morn for breakfast with these two lads," she added, giving Blair a hug. 

"Sure," Jim said, "we can meet for brunch at noon, at the diner around the corner. Deal?" 

"Noon isn't early," Jane said with a frown. 

"Yeah, I know," Jim replied with a badly suppressed smirk. 

"You just want us out of here," Simon groused. Realizing that was the case, they all agreed with good grace and stood to leave. 

Jim closed the door on the last of them and turned back to Blair, who was once again surveying the devastation. "Jim, I don't believe this," he said sadly. 

"I know, Chief," Jim replied, embracing him from behind. "We'll fix it. It's just _stuff_ , right? As long as we're alive, that's the important thing." 

"I know, I know," Blair sighed. He twisted in Jim's arms and rested his good cheek against Jim's shoulder. "Is this the part where we go upstairs and have life-affirming sex?" he asked, a yawn half-way through ruining his attempt at a sexy tone. 

Jim laughed. "Yeah, sure. If you think you can stay awake for it. Come on." 

He locked up and did a fast tour of the apartment while Blair was in the bathroom, then took his own turn before heading up to their bed. He shucked down to boxers and sat on the edge of the bed, watching Blair strip and climb into bed. Then he reached over for his discarded pants and pulled a clunky, cloth wrapped bundle out of one pocket. 

"What's that?" Blair yawned. 

"Our copies," Jim replied, spilling the bright gold on the bed. 

Blair sorted the pieces fondly, then froze. "Ah, Jim?" 

"Yeah, babe?" Jim replied, leaning over to nuzzle at Blair's neck. 

"There's -- there's one extra piece here." Blair's finger indicated a half-moon shaped chunk, and Jim chuckled. 

"Yeah, you noticed that, huh?" 

Blair whapped him with the back of his hand, then said "Ow!" when he felt the bruised knuckles complain. 

"Gnosovelich had two of the pieces. Kirby's got one of them and will return it to the Cascade Museum. But this one, I figure, is from the collector in New York -- or, maybe yet another one. Either way, it's ours now, and I've got the perfect place -- and person -- for it." 

Blair looked at him with big eyes. "She's absolutely going to kill you, you know," he said, a grin fighting to come through. 

"Yeah, I know," Jim said, smugly. Then he wrapped the pieces up again and set them aside. "We could just smuggle it into her luggage and send her an email..." he suggested, and Blair laughed, collapsing back on the pillows. 

"It belongs to Sentinels to guard, don't you think?" Jim asked Blair seriously, as Blair snuggled down into the sheets. 

"Yeah, I guess it does at that," Blair replied sleepily. "C'mere." 

Jim crawled under the sheets and pressed himself up to his lover. He leaned down and kissed Blair gently, ghosting little kisses all over his face, paying close attention to the bruises. He came back to Blair's mouth again, kissing deeply, then noticed how slack those beautiful lips were. Pulling back, he looked down and realized his love was asleep. A soft snore confirmed it. 

Chuckling, Jim turned out the light and pulled Blair to himself gently, wrapping him in strong arms, and succumbing to sleep himself. 

* * *

End SVS2-15: Brackett's Game by MrsHamill: FiveSenses@yahoogroups.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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